


Yoda’s Academy for Li’l Padawans

by MissDinahDarling



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Adorable Grogu | Baby Yoda, Alternate Universe - Kindergarten & Pre-school, Awesome Leia Organa, Awkwardness, Cute Kids, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Emotional Constipation, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Good Parent Din Djarin, Grogu | Baby Yoda Being a Little Shit, Han Solo is a Good Person, Happy Ending, Love at First Sight, Luke Skywalker Needs A Hug, Luke Skywalker is a Sweetheart, M/M, Minor Leia Organa/Han Solo, Minor Poe Dameron/Finn, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Protective Grogu | Baby Yoda, Romantic Comedy, Soft Din Djarin, Teacher Luke Skywalker, not a slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28300689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDinahDarling/pseuds/MissDinahDarling
Summary: Being a new student ishard.Being a new student whilst your socially awkward father avoids the school at all costs and your new teacher pines uselessly over a man he’s never met before is evenworse.But by god, Grogu is gonna get through this.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu | Baby Yoda & Luke Skywalker
Comments: 528
Kudos: 2967
Collections: Amazing Fics I Like to Re-Read, Movies, Star Wars, shit for aubrey





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> **Based on my own[tumblr post](https://dinahdarling.tumblr.com/post/638114167696523264/dinluke-au-where-din-is-a-single-hot-dad). I hope you enjoy this self-indulgent, sickeningly sweet, purely cliché story, inspired by your typical teacher/parent romcoms!**
> 
> **This story has now been translated into[Chinese](http://www.mtslash.me/thread-334751-1-1.html).**
> 
> **Listen to the[playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLue4jszEIGihUwde8cjcXHKlk_IijmJ-m).**

Grogu looks up at the cheery welcome banner in apprehension.

It's taken sheer months for his dad to finally decide on a suitable school for him and _Yoda's Academy for Li'l Padawans_ is apparently the winner. His dad works all day at Nana Peli's auto-shop, so he doesn't have the capacity or the energy (or the knowledge, truthfully) to home-school Grogu, and Auntie Ahsoka doesn't have the time to teach Grogu either. Their other options are, well, less than desirable, because the last time his dad left him in the care of someone who ought to have been teaching him, it led to a whole bar being blown up.

Also, it led to him being _in_ a bar.

So, _Yoda's Academy_ it is.

One short glance at his dad tells Grogu that he isn't the only one feeling wary about this whole ordeal.

His dad sighs heavily before crouching down before Grogu; they're lingering by the gates leading to the kindergarten class; most of the other children have already gone inside. Grogu can feel, more than see, the stares of curiosity from the other parents, as well as a few glances of appreciation. He does not approve of those kinds of looks, but at least they're not trying to hurt his dad.

Those are the worst kinds of looks.

"Listen, kid," his dad says, his voice muffled through the motorcycle helmet; he won't take it off unless, not in public and very rarely in private, but Grogu can feel his dad's warm stare regardless. "This is an important day for us." And thus begins the lecture – it's not like he hasn't heard it five times already, but what's a sixth, really? "So, you're going to be respectful and good, like always. No biting the other kids. No running away. No eating anything that doesn't belong to you – actually, don't eat anything unless your teacher gives you the all-clear, got it?"

Grogu barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes but nods, throwing himself into his dad's arms for another clinging embrace; ever since his dad adopted him from that orphanage, it's always been them. Together. Always.

This will be the first time they've ever been separated and whilst it is mildly thrilling, it's also quite… nerve-wracking. But Grogu doesn't know how to express himself like that, so he settles for wrapping himself tightly around his dad in hopes of getting his feelings across.

It must work because his dad clings back tighter.

"You got this," his dad murmurs, though Grogu isn't entirely sure which of them he's speaking to.

He's about to pull away and give his dad his most assuring look when a door opens behind him. The sound is shortly followed by a man's voice, friendly and warm, welcoming them to the school.

"You must be Grogu," the voice says. Grogu pulls away from his dad to turn around and inspect the newcomer who knows his name. His eyes fall upon a young man, with sandy-blond hair and soft eyes. His aura is welcoming, gentle, open and Grogu immediately finds comfort in his presence. He coos happily, his anxiety slowly ebbing away at the sight of a friendly smile. "I'm Mr Skywalker, I'll be your teacher. It's nice to finally meet you and—"

There's a pause as confusion flitters across the man's face.

Grogu blinks, tilting his head as he feels a cool breeze against his back and the telling sound of a growling motorcycle engine. He barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes as he peers over his shoulder to find a billowing cloud of smoke as his dad drives away. He narrows his eyes at the shrinking blur and ponders on the reasons why his dad suddenly left.

It's not like him to just abandon Grogu – especially after the arduous adoption process and the fact that they're both deeply aware of Grogu's separation issues. And his dad's separation issues, if he's being frank – after all, Grogu isn't the one with the silver ball in his pocket. It's the first toy his dad gave him, symbolising pretty much everything about their relationship.

Still, he already feels the itch of anxiety beneath his skin; he totters over to Mr Skywalker in hopes of having it soothed away.

"—I'm guessing that was your father?" Mr Skywalker finally finishes his sentence, sounding faintly stunned as he reaches down to curl a hand around Grogu's head. "Is he late for work?"

Grogu really does roll his eyes at that one, because his dad is always late for work; how Nana Peli hasn't fired him yet is beyond his comprehension. He shakes his head, clings to Mr Skywalker's legs and gazes up at the man curiously. He wonders why his dad didn't stay to greet the man, wonders why he hasn't given his teacher the full rundown of what to expect when caring for Grogu… wonders why his protective guardian didn't even bother with his typical threats and in-advance apologies.

But then Mr Skywalker glances down and smiles at Grogu, sincere and sweet.

"Shall we go in? I'll introduce you to your new friends," he says, gently leading Grogu into the school.

And well, his teacher is actually rather quite _pretty_ – or so Uncle Cobb would say.

As they venture towards the school, Grogu can't help but flick one last glance at the wisps of smoke lingering on the road before his eyes skitter up to his teacher's soft smile.

He has his suspicions, but…

No.

It can't be – _right_?

* * *

Becoming a teacher hadn't exactly been written in the stars for Luke; rather, he fell into the role quite literally when he collided with Headmaster Yoda outside the building after being fired for the fourth time that week. Admittedly, taking a client's vintage Mustang out for a drive hadn't been the smartest move for a valet, but Luke's done worse truthfully speaking.

He's just counting every blessing that Headmaster Yoda had found him quite charming and deemed him a good fit for a kindergarten teacher; the year that followed had been gruelling because Yoda does not mess around when it comes to his school, only the best teachers get to grace its grounds and damn it, Luke would do anything to be the best.

Five years later and becoming the best is still a work in progress, but Luke's pretty sure he's made a name for himself for being driven to an almost alarming degree. He gets to know every child, learns the names of every family member, finds out their likes and dislikes, favourite colours, introduces them to his ferret – R2D2 – as well as commits every little conversation to memory, because you never know when a child will ask if you remember their favourite song lyric from three weeks, four days and two hours ago.

He never really expected to love his job this much, but he does.

He really does.

Luke thrives with the highs, embraces the lows and greets every new challenge with bull-headed determination.

Now it seems he has a new challenge to face.

"Mr Skywalker, Grogu keeps eating the paint!"

And oddly enough, it's _not_ the child.

* * *

_Mr Djarin,_

_It's unfortunate we didn't get to meet this morning. I hope to fix that soon._

_I just wanted to let you know that Grogu is settling in but seems to be having issues with the other children. I've caught him stealing their snacks twice and he's developed a habit of hiding toys in his mouth to avoid sharing them._

_If you could come in for a chat, we can sort this whole matter out._

_Thank you._

_Mr Skywalker (Luke)_

* * *

Luke doesn't exactly expect a reply during his lunch hour but mere seconds after he's sent his message to Grogu's singular guardian contact, his inbox trills with an incoming email.

Blinking, he opens it with minor trepidation and is quite baffled by what he reads.

* * *

_Mr Skywalker._

_I'm sorry about Grogu's behaviour. He's had some trouble with separation in the past, which makes him quite possessive over what he considers to be 'his'. This is the first time we've been apart of a substantial amount of time which might be proving difficult for him._

_As for stealing snacks? Well, it could be worse. He could be eating the kids themselves, so I consider this progress honestly._

_I am quite busy, but I'll see if I can schedule in time for a chat._

_Din._

* * *

Okay, so the man's name is Din and apparently—

Wait.

 _Eating kids_?

* * *

Once Luke is over his initial bout of hysteria, he re-reads Din's ( _Din_ , Grogu's father's name is _Din_ and oddly, it suits him so nicely? Single syllable, strong starting consonant, soft ending, just fits on his tongue so nicely and— _what is he doing_?) email.

Luke considers himself to be quite a good judge of character, so he picks apart every word and strains his eyes to read between the lines. Din is a man of few words, clearly, but the ones he does use make an impact. He's smart and quick. Isn't a man of pride and is willing to admit fault but isn't a complete doormat either.

Above everything, he's quite clearly proud of Grogu.

The love is evident.

The care.

The concern.

Luke bites his lip and tries to establish a mental image of Grogu's father. From the little that he's seen of the man before he dashed away, Luke knows that he has… well, impressive shoulders. Lovely legs, fine arms… a firm body all wrapped up in motorcycle leathers, so he's probably quite fearless. Tough. Confident in his area of expertise. Judging from his email, he's also honest with a dry sense of humour. Like, the driest of humour. Though, he's protective and loyal, isn't afraid of being gentle and—

And now Luke's got a little voice in his head, laughing at him for getting infatuated with a glorified ghost.

The voice sounds horribly like Han.

* * *

"How is the new cohort?" Headmaster Yoda asks, catching Luke just before he returns to class.

Luke smiles easily and nods at the question. "I have a good group this year, some interesting characters for sure."

Headmaster Yoda hums serenely before his intelligent eyes carefully cast over Luke's expression.

"And the newest student?" he asks, cocking his head, "a strenuous process, it was. Getting him here."

"Oh, Grogu?" Luke says, "he's… it'll take some time, but I think he's a perfect fit for the class." He opens his mouth to say more but feels instantly foolish and closes it again.

"Go on," Headmaster Yoda encourages, arching a knowing brow.

"His dad," Luke blurts out, "I haven't had the chance to meet him yet – I think he," he flounders uselessly, waving a hand in the air as he gathers his thoughts, "I think he literally ran away from me this morning."

"Interesting," Headmaster Yoda notes slowly, "this bothers you?"

"No one's ever ran away from me before!" Luke insists because he can't explain why he's so fascinated with Din, why he has this uncontrollable urge to meet him and understand what makes the man tic. He's managed to meet every single parent, likes to know the families and get them involved in their child's education – this single anomaly is practically eating away at him. "I just… I want to know why."

"Meddling?" Headmaster Yoda suggests, regarding Luke with steady eyes.

"I'm _not_ going to meddle—" Luke protests at first.

"No," Headmaster Yoda interjects, "meddle, you will."

"—oh my god, I _am_ going to meddle," Luke finishes defeatedly, because he's never met a challenge that he hasn't risen to, and Grogu's father is the most intriguing challenge yet.

He's… god, the man's an enigma tied up in a mystery wrapped up in enticing motorcycle leathers.

Holy shit – does he have a thing for _leather_?

* * *

_Din,_

_Thank you for letting me know – I'll look into some intervention practices to help Grogu settle into his new learning environment. You can help me with this later when you pick him up._

_Kind regards,_

_Luke_

* * *

The rest of the day passes without incident.

Grogu paints a picture of himself with his dad – it consists of one large green blob with a silver ball and a squished grey blob with lots of pink hearts around it. It seems Grogu had been very confident with his painting at first and then panicked when he realised how much space he had left for his dad. All in all, it's a lovely piece and speaks volumes about how much Grogu loves his guardian.

"This is your dad, right?" Luke asks, pointing to Grogu.

Grogu nods – he's pretty nonverbal, which Luke takes in his stride as he can sense intelligence rolling off the child in waves – and splatters another heart onto the page.

"Could you paint him without the helmet?" Luke asks lightly.

Grogu looks at him plainly, pointedly smearing another pink heart next to his dad's face.

Right.

That's clearly a dead-end then.

"Is he… did he have to leave in a hurry this morning?" Luke asks instead, trying hard to sound curious without being overly probing. Grogu glances up at him, blinks once before he returns to showering messy hearts upon his painting. "I mean, he left quite quickly and I do like meeting your guardians. Is he picking you up? Maybe I can meet him then?"

Grogu answers with coo as he smacks his hand against his painted dad's face.

Luke merely smiles and nods. "What about—" but then he cuts himself off because it's a rather delicate matter, asking for the whereabouts of his other parent. Assuming he has another parent is bad enough, so Luke drops it and just waves Grogu's concern away when the child looks up at him again.

Perhaps Grogu just doesn't have enough space for his other parent.

Perhaps Grogu's parents are separated and he's living with his father right now.

Perhaps Grogu's dad is a widow and he had to leave quickly to make it to work on time because it's just him and his kid and he needs the money and—

Fuck.

Luke really needs to stop watching those soap operas Chewy loves.

* * *

_~~Mr Skywalker.~~ _

_~~I cannot come into school because I'm not sure what I will do if I see you smile at my son like he's the centre of your universe again, he's never become so readily attached to anyone quite like you and it makes me feel~~ _

_Message Deleted!_

* * *

When school ends, Luke waits patiently with Grogu, who has his large eyes pinned to the door. He's taught many children, but there's something about Grogu's adoration for his father which is just… refreshingly nice. Absently, he wonders if it's due to his own issues regarding male paternal figures, but it's a thought which is quickly dashed away.

The door to his class opens; the receptionist, a polite young man named Finn, gestures to a woman beside him with a dazzling smile.

"Here's Mr Skywalker's class," Finn says warmly, "this is Cara Dune, she's come to pick up Grogu." Finn nods towards Luke before he slips out of the room with a short wave to Grogu.

Cara is a strong woman with dark eyes and an indiscernible expression. She walks into the room with slow, deliberate steps, owning the space she occupies with all the lithe grace of a panther. Luke takes one look at her and knows that this is a woman who must be worthy of Din Djarin's heart.

Oddly enough, it hurts to think about the man being taken.

His spiralling thoughts are brought to an abrupt stop when Grogu suddenly cries in delight and rushes over to her, barrelling into her legs with babbling joy. Her expression immediately melts into a fond smile as she reaches down to cup a gentle hand around his head.

It's a soft touch, affectionate and… well, maternal.

"You must be his mother," Luke says, tucking the pain in his heart away for later; he reaches out to shake her hand but falters when she merely arches a brow at him.

"Must be?" she echoes curiously before she glances down to where Grogu's tangled himself up between her legs. "Did you tell him that?"

Grogu merely coos at her, smiling like the little imp he is.

Cara merely hums and strokes her fingers over the shell of his ears.

"I'm not his mother," Cara says, finally glancing up to stare impassively at Luke; he gets the feeling that he's being weighed up, assessed, tested for some bizarre reason. "We don't really do labels in our family, do we Grogu? It took long enough for Din to get over being called 'daddy', didn't it?"

Grogu merely grizzles and nods happily.

Luke tries to ignore the heat burning in his gut at the thought of Din being called daddy.

"Right, so should I expect you to pick him up tomorrow?" he asks, canting his head.

Cara hums and swoops down to collect Grogu into her arms.

"No," she says, nuzzling Grogu warmly, "I'm on drop-off duty – I've left the timetable with reception. They'll keep you updated. Now, I heard this one has caused you some mischief," she purses her lips at Grogu who suddenly grows quiet, "care to explain?"

Luke nods and gestures for her to sit down so they can sort things out.

He also tries to ignore the alarming concern when he realises that Din's created a timetable.

In all honesty – what the fuck?

* * *

_Mr Skywalker._

_Grogu informs me that he enjoyed his first day at your academy._

_I want to thank you for helping him settle in and clearing up his behavioural issues with Cara – I know he can be a handful at times but he's clever. I know he can do well if you give him a chance._

_Thank you. Again._

_Din._

* * *

_Din,_

_You're welcome! Grogu is a spirited child, I won't lie, but he is sweet and has impeccable manners when the mood strikes him. Honestly, I look forward to having him in my class for the rest of the year!_

_I am a little curious about your timetable, however – do you not have time to come into school at all?_

_It's not a problem, I've just never seen such an extensive child-care routine before._

_I'm a little impressed._

_And please, call me Luke!_

_Kind regards,_

_Luke_

* * *

_Luke._

_I'm afraid I won't be able to come to school for the foreseeable._

_I'm busy at work and can't imagine I'd have any free time for the rest of his academic year with you._

_Apologies. If require someone to come in, then please refer to the timetable. I have planned for all the necessary arrangements._

_Din._

* * *

"I must have upset him," Luke says with finality, curling up on Leia's sofa with a mulish pout, "why else would he just… avoid coming into school?"

His mind is just stuck on the sentence, his academic year with you, as in Luke is the problem here. Clearly.

"Maybe he's busy," Leia suggests, passing him a mug of decaffeinated coffee. She perches on the armchair next to him, hand resting atop her bump. "Not everyone has the time to cart their kids to and from school."

"I guess," Luke says, drumming his fingers against the hot porcelain.

"Or he could've taken one look at you and thought: ‘this twink is teaching my kid’?" Han says with a dry snort, "he's probably busy trying to avoid you whilst looking for a new school."

"Han!" Leia scolds.

"What's a twink?" Luke wrinkles his nose.

" _Han_!" Leia scolds again.

* * *

The next day, Luke prepares himself to learn more about Din Djarin in any way possible.

The man not being able to come into school is just a single hurdle that Luke can leap over easily.

He meets Cara once more, greets her warmly and is pleased when she actually shakes his hand. The day is much better than the last as Grogu doesn't steal a single snack, though he still spends the first two hours of the day staring out the window in hopes of catching sight of his father.

He emails Din, requesting a copy of this supposed timetable and is astonished when he receives it alongside a comprehensive list of contact details for each person in the _Grogu Babysitter's Network_ , which isn't the _actual_ name but come on.

This is _definitely_ a network of babysitters.

"You have a big family, don't you?" Luke says to Grogu during continuous provision; he's watching as Grogu slowly organises number tiles into groups of odd, even and even prime numbers. It's pretty advanced stuff but, Luke's quickly learning that Grogu is a pretty advanced child. Though, he still has issues with recognising certain colours and Luke knows that, eventually, they'll have to work on his verbal skills too. However, it's evident he communicates with his father, which means Grogu has some basic capacity in speech and language. Regardless, he's also quite the loner, as the other children are giving quite a wide berth for now, but Luke knows he can fix that soon enough.

Grogu glances up at him and nods at the question.

"Do you all live together?"

Grogu releases a wail of cackling sounds before he shakes his head with gleaming eyes.

Luke feels like he's asked something rather stupid.

"So," Luke fumbles, waving a hand in the air, "is it just you and your dad? Living together?"

Grogu blinks at him and abruptly turns back to the task at hand. Right, probably too invasive right now. Time to build up some trust. He glances around the room to quickly peruse the rest of his class; they all seem to be getting along just fine without any adult interference, so Luke focuses on Grogu for the moment.

"I was adopted," he informs him quietly, his nape prickling when Grogu snaps his head up to stare at Luke with large, intense eyes. "My mother died when I was a baby. My dad… wasn't around. My uncle, he… he helped me find a new family, a new home. Owen and Beru, they gave me a home." Grogu is silent, tilting his head as he listens attentively. "So, you know," Luke continues with a small smile, "I get that not every family looks the same. As long as you're loved, as long as you're happy and healthy, then it doesn't matter what your family looks like, right?"

And Grogu releases a stream of excitable babble, pointing at Luke insistently before pointing at himself. Luke doesn't understand at first; not until Grogu is moments away from climbing into his lap with enthusiastic intent.

"You— I was adopted… were you adopted too?" he cants his head curiously.

Grogu nods furiously, cooing with joy.

"Your dad adopted you?" Luke asks needlessly again.

Grogu nods once more before returning to his task, humming happily under his breath as he organises his numbers. Luke merely watches him as he slowly digests this newfound information.

So, Din adopted Grogu? That's… that's nice.

And if Luke's heart feels alarmingly fluttery in his chest, then that's no one's business but his own.

* * *

Luke meets Grogu's second babysitter that afternoon – the rest of the children have been picked up until it's just him and the child left in the classroom. Grogu is happily scribbling on a piece of paper whilst Luke paces the room, wondering how to process this whole situation.

He's had children get picked up by separate parents, he's had children get picked up by several babysitters – he's never seen a military-style operation with the aims of ensuring that Din and Luke never meet, ever.

Which is all presumptuous reasoning, but it's not entirely ridiculous. The man has even pencilled in back-up guardians for extenuating circumstances, as well as noting down who'd be in charge of parent-teacher conferences and any charity or competitive events taking place.

Din's not down for anything.

It's rather alarming that someone is this avoidant of getting involved in their child's schooling, especially when Din's apparently tried so hard to get the best school for Grogu, plus it's evident that Grogu has a lot of love for his dad, so… so it must be Luke who's the problem, right?

Right?

"Mr Skywalker?" Finn's voice calls out lightly. "This is, uh, Cobb Vanth? He's here for Grogu."

And Luke plasters on a friendly smile and turns to see one of the most attractive men to have ever graced his classroom. Even Finn, who's happily married to a very handsome pilot, seems rather taken with the guy. Luke watches as Cobb saunters into the room, jogging up to Grogu with a dimpled smile and wide arms. He gives off an aura which is distinctively Han Solo and Luke idly wonders if they've been separated at birth.

"Hey troublemaker," Cobb drawls, picking Grogu up with a throaty laugh, "been biting anyone today? Used any of that language I definitely didn't teach you? Because if your dad asks, you know to blame it on Fennec, right?"

Grogu babbles and places both hands on Cobb's face, squishing the cheeks with sheer joy.

"Yeah, you know," Cobb says, tucking Grogu into the crook of one arm and using the other to wave at Finn. "Thanks for showing me around pal."

"You're welcome," Finn says, giving Luke a look that speaks volumes before he disappears out of the room. Luke takes several breaths and tries to focus on his mission – to uncover all of Din's secrets, starting with his marital status.

"So, if Cara isn't Grogu's mother, then—"

"You thought _Cara_ was Grogu's _mother_?" Cobb asks before he throws his head back in hysterical, cackling laughter. Oh damn, he's definitely Han's long-lost brother, fuck, there's two of them.

"—I don't suppose you're Grogu's other—"

"You think _I'm_ Grogu's mother?" Cobb cuts him off, laughing even harder. Grogu peers at Cobb with concern when his voice grows hoarse and wheezy, "no offence buddy, but I haven't been anything remotely female in years, you dig?"

"I-I didn't mean— I'm sorry," Luke ducks his head, gnawing his lip as he feels his cheeks heat up.

"Nah, it's fine," Cobb is quick to wave away his apologies, "I'm just… I'm not the parent-type. I'm more… the uncle you invite over and immediately regret, 'cause now your kid knows how to swear in four different languages, type."

"Only four?" Luke teases before he can stop himself. His words draw Cobb to a halt, who arches a brow and considers Luke steadily, gently rocking Grogu in his arm as he does so. The silence only lasts a beat or so, but eventually, Cobb's lips curl into a delighted grin.

"Yeah," he says, eyes flickering down to Grogu, "he'll do."

Grogu cries out with joy.

"Do for what?" Luke asks, utterly mystified.

"See you, Mr Skywalker!" Cobb salutes him, turns on his heel and saunters out of the room with a second look back. "Enjoy meeting Migs!"

Who the _fuck_ is _Migs_?

* * *

Migs Mayfeld, as Luke quickly learns, is rough around the edges and isn't afraid to tell him to piss off when Luke innocently enquires about Din's appearance. And relationship status. And his whereabouts in general.

The man laughs himself hoarse as he does so, which admittedly takes most of the sting out of the insult.

But he still doesn't give Luke a solid answer.

* * *

_Luke._

_Grogu told me about your story – thank you for making him feel less alone._

_The adoption process was difficult as he was orphaned at a young age. I was adopted myself. It's probably why I turned to adoption when I became interested in raising a child._

_He would like me to tell you that he doesn't mind sitting by himself in class, but I have my reservations. I want him to be surrounded by people who love him, so if you could, please help him make friends._

_It's rare that he ever encounters someone who doesn't immediately love him, but I know what he's like when he gets into one of his moods._

_Thank you._

_Din._

_PS: What's a Padawan, exactly?_

* * *

Oh crap.

The man is _cute_.

Luke is so fucked.

* * *

Luke goes to reception during morning break the next day and tries to ply information out of Finn.

He even resorts to bribery and threats, telling Finn that he isn't afraid to tell Yoda about Finn's predilection for using the school's WiFi to Facetime Poe when he should be working. He also tells him that he'll get Rose's number for Rey if it helps, which clearly sweetens the deal as Finn relents with a long-suffering sigh.

"I don't know what he looks like – he kept that helmet of his on throughout the entire meeting," Finn tells him with a shrug, "Yoda didn't seem to care, so I didn't either. Guess it makes him feel safe? Or it's a personal thing? I don't know, I used to do something similar before I worked here." He doesn't share what that something similar is exactly, but Luke knows enough about Finn's past to not ask for further details.

"You really don't know what he looks like?" he asks, greedily desperate for any detailed morsel about Din's life.

Finn eyes him closely. "Didn't take you for the shallow type."

"I'm not!" Luke protests, "it's just… I'm just curious! I don't care what he looks like, I just—" and his words trail off as he purses his lips in disappointment, blinking dolefully at Finn until the man visibly crumbles.

"Look," Finn begins, with all the patience and weariness of several saints, "I don't know his relationship status, he didn't fill that bit in on the parent/guardian form. All I know is that he's a mechanic, earns enough for his kid to come here and that he's the only one down as Grogu's emergency contact. Oh, and if he's not available, then everyone else written down on his timetable should be placed in a hat and picked out at random to avoid World War Three breaking out."

"What?" Luke utters.

"Favouritism is frowned upon in the Djarin household," Finn shrugs, "but that's all I know."

"What?" Luke repeats weakly.

"Wait, no it's not – Cara says he rides a motorcycle, speaks four languages and reads to Grogu every night," Finn adds before his smile turns coyly wry, "but you wouldn't be interested in that kind of information, would you?"

Oh god, he reads to his kid _every_ night?

"Do you think it's possible to develop a crush on someone you never met?" Luke asks wildly, drumming his fingers nervously on Finn's desk.

Finn shoots him an unimpressed look.

"If you have to ask that, then it's probably too late," he says, his wedding ring gleaming in the light, "don't you think?"

* * *

_Din,_

_It's no problem! I've always been open about my background with the kids!_

_Most of the time, I start off with an ice-breaker, then I wait until one of them begins to struggle before offering them a hand. By that, I mean I physically remove my artificial hand and pass it to them. It has a 70% chance of being funny. I've only ever really terrified two children with the joke._

_Somehow, I think Grogu would appreciate the jest._

_Don't worry, being new is always a struggle but the kids are warming up to him – I won't let you or your son down, I promise._

_Kind regards,_

_Luke._

_PS: I don't actually know? I asked Headmaster Yoda once and he merely looked disappointed that I had to ask. I'm kinda scared to ask again, to be honest._

* * *

_Please do not give Grogu your hand. You will not get it back._

Luke realises the severity of Din's warning two hours later when he finds himself bribing Grogu with macaroons in an attempt to get his hand back.

* * *

_Din,_

_Grogu may not be able to eat his dinner this evening. I may have spoiled him with seven macaroons in our negotiations._

_Sorry about that._

_Luke._

* * *

_You gave him your hand, didn't you?_

_Well, I'd say seven macaroons is an improvement. The fourth time he stole the keys to my bike, he refused to give them back until I persuaded my boss to bake him a birthday cake._

_His birthday wasn't for another three months, but what could I do?_

"Oh my god," Luke breathes, head in his hands as he tries to stifle his helplessly charmed smile, "he's so fucking cute."

* * *

"Brown eyes sends his regards," Migs says when he drops Grogu off one morning.

It takes Luke several minutes to regulate his breathing because holy fuck, Din has _brown eyes_? They're probably big and soulful, giving doe-eyed a whole new meaning and—

"Mr Skywalker, Sera pushed Codin over!"

—and he has a job to do, fuck.

* * *

So, Luke can safely say that he's intrigued by Din, if not a little infatuated.

He cannot safely say if Din is taken at this point, but his classroom soon becomes the stage for an outright parade of attractive, strong, intelligent people who are all lucky enough to have a slice of Din's attention.

It's frustrating that none of them will answer Luke properly when he asks about Din; all he gets in return is arched brows and thinly-veiled amusement. For a desperate, wild moment he wonders if they're going back to Din and gossiping about the needy kindergarten teacher who's clearly obsessed with him.

It makes him glad that no one is really taking him up on his offer to chat about Din.

Admittedly, he's slightly relieved that he doesn't know about Din's relationship status – he's not sure what he'd do if the man were to be taken.

Then again, he's not sure what he'd do if he learns that Din is _single_.

* * *

_Din,_

_~~I was wondering if~~ _

_~~Do you have a wife, husband, partner~~ _

_~~Are you into blonds~~ _

_~~Would you like to~~ _

_~~Are your shoulders as broad out of the leathers~~ _

_~~Can I ride your~~ _

_Grogu has made his first friend today – I'm not sure if he told you this himself. Her name is Winta and they've begun sitting together at lunch. I know you've been quite concerned about him making friends but please don't worry._

_The children are warming up to him and I daresay he has most of the faculty wrapped around his finger already._

_Kind regards,_

_Luke_

* * *

_Luke._

_Thank you – it's a relief to hear._

_I'm glad I chose your class for Grogu. It's clearly the best decision I made._

_Din._

* * *

"I am the _best_ decision he's made," Luke whispers aloud, staring at the screen until his eyes begin to burn, "did you hear that R2 – I'm the best decision he's made."

His ferret merely squeaks and nips at him, unimpressed by his gushing sighs.

"I think I'm in love," Luke sighs dreamily before he snaps his head around to stare at R2D2 in horror, "what the fuck do I do now?"

* * *

"Take him out," Leia says, rolling her eyes after dryly applauding him for his new take on falling in love at first sight.

"I _can't_ just— I _don't_ even know if he's— we haven't even _met_ — I'm his _child's teacher_ , there's _ethical_ — I can't— _take him out_?" Luke tries to explain, but his face feels so hot, his hands have grown so clammy and he's pretty sure he's actually on the edge of a heart attack. Luke had stormed over to her apartment the moment he recovered from his graceless hysteria, with R2D2 clinging to his shoulders as the ferret emitted a series of furious squeaks.

"Who are we taking out?" Han pipes up, strolling into the kitchen covered in grease and fur, "and what are we using? Knife? Gun? Makeshift noose? Can I make the noose?"

"No, you idiot," Leia says fondly, smacking Han on the arm, "take out as in, on a _date_?"

Han blinks. "There's a difference?"

Luke isn't entirely sure how to seduce someone he's never officially met before, but anyone with half a brain could agree that murder-plans are not the way to a man's heart.

Except for Han.

Actually, most statements in the world could come with the footnote, 'except for Han'.

* * *

The babysitters still come in strong and Luke wonders what it says about Din that he's managed to amass such a loyal army of diverse individuals.

He wonders what it says about Din that he's managed to seduce Luke without even trying.

* * *

"Did you just take a photo of me?" Luke asks Cobb one day.

The man merely smiles innocently despite his phone still flashing in his hand, camera pointed straight at Luke.

"Din," he says, eyes glittering with thinly-veiled glee, "he wanted a photo of Grogu as proof that he's enjoying school."

"But," Luke says uncertainly, blinking fast and hard as he points at Grogu weakly, "but you're holding Grogu." Then he frowns, brows knitting together with threads of confusion as he points to himself. "And I could always send him photos of Grogu myself."

"Oh," Cobb chirps with faux-surprise, glancing down at Grogu like he's seeing him for the first time, "so I am!" Then he turns on his heel and saunters out with a short salute. "So long Mr Skywalker!"

Luke waves, inwardly vowing to _never_ let Han meet this guy.

* * *

_~~Luke.~~ _

_~~Cobb just sent me a photo of yourself with the caption: this twink will obliterate you and I think you should know that you have full permission to kill him, it's your honour he's besmirched after all and~~ _

_Message Deleted!_

* * *

There's Fennec Shand, who speaks with her eyebrows more than her lips, leaving Finn practically starry-eyed when they first met. Apparently, she reminds him of his best friend and has somehow managed to swap numbers with her. He hopes Rose doesn't have competition for Rey's heart, but then he figures this is just for Finn's benefit instead.

Luke squints his eyes at Finn and wonders how the man makes friends so easily.

Luke solemnly decides to find a way to get Finn to spill all his secrets.

* * *

There's Greef Karga who exudes an aura of safety so strong, Luke almost beat Grogu to the punch in throwing himself at the man for a hug.

But he manages to restrain himself.

Barely.

Instead, he gets treated to the sight of Greef carefully lifting Grogu up like he's a ticking bomb, keeping him at arms-length despite the warm smile on his face. Grogu babbles happily, shoving paper in the man's face with scribbles all over it.

"That's a good drawing, little one," Greef says, sincere and true as his eyes scan over the paper, "I guess that green blob is you?" Grogu coos with a nod. "And this black blob is… your dad?" Grogu coos louder, hands flying in the air. "And… who is this yellow blob?"

And Grogu points to Luke with a toothy smile and Luke just about dies.

Greef stares at him with a suspicious squint, humming lowly as he sizes Luke up; he feels honestly so exhausted by this strange series of trials he's been put through, but so far, he's seemingly passed them all, so he simply stands tall and meets Greef's gaze unflinchingly.

"Mr Skywalker?" Greef says and Luke opens his mouth until it becomes apparent that Greef was not speaking to him. Grogu nods harder, patting the paper with an excitable chatter. "I see."

And those two words, spoken so quietly, ring loudly in the silence stretching in the classroom.

Greef's gaze flicks back up to Luke, his eyes softer now, as he nods once more and repeats, "I see."

* * *

"What the fuck does he see? I don't understand! What have I done?" Luke paces Leia's lounge in angry, tight circles, running a hand through his hair in distress. "Who is this man and what does he want from me and why can't it be a _date_?"

Han just watches him pace before he turns to Chewbacca who's been ignoring them both in favour of dismantling Leia's toaster. At first, Luke had thought it had been broken and Chewy was trying to fix it, but then Han had told him that he was breaking it out of spite, 'cause he wanted the pink toaster, but Leia came home with the blue one instead.

It's… a whole thing, apparently.

"Well," Han begins, slowly and drawling as he scratches his cheek, "I've travelled around a lot, been to a few places, seen a few things – done more than a few things – and maybe this is just. I don't know, some ostentatious courting ritual."

Luke blinks.

Chewy pauses in breaking Leia's toaster to cackle loudly.

Luke blinks again.

"A courting ritual," he echoes tonelessly, despite the flame of hope sparking into existence in his chest, "you think I'm being courted."

Han smacks Chewy and rears up, indignation flowing from every pour. "Yeah, courting ritual – I said what I said. Maybe you need the approval of his family before he can date you. Some cultures do that kinda thing. Assess you and see what you can bring to the family. Now that he's got a son, it's more than likely that they're making sure you're a suitable parent for the kid."

Luke nods slowly as he digests Han's theory; it's not a bad theory, but it is a little out there. Plus, Han has travelled a lot more than Luke, so maybe this is Din's way of getting to know him, of making sure his family approves before he makes a move.

Maybe this whole sorry situation is just a ruse because Din wants him as much as Luke wants—

"Or maybe he's got a hit on you and every person picking up Grogu has just determined that you're not worth the effort," Han pipes up, settling back into his chair with an impish smirk.

Luke gapes at him.

"Or maybe he's trying to kill you himself and his friends are running recon," Han adds, with Chewy snickering as electricity begins to spark from the toaster.

Luke thinks he can see smoke and oh god, he really hopes Leia kills them both this time.

"Or maybe—"

"Please, go back to the courting theory!"

* * *

A woman with beautiful facial markings picks up Grogu next – her name is Ahsoka Tano and she asks for a job.

Luke worries for a moment that maybe Han had been right and she's here to kill him, or at least spy on him so Din can kill him instead. But then he sees how softly firm she is with Grogu, how she doesn't condescend him or coddle him – he sees her and is reminded of Rose Tico, his assistant trainee from last year. Rose had been a massive help in the classroom and honestly, her absence has been heavily felt.

He tells Ahsoka that he'll have a word with the headmaster and see if there's any vacancy for volunteer work, just to see how she adapts to teaching in their school.

He doesn't bother asking for her experience.

One look at how she interacts with Grogu tells him all he needs to know.

She also tells him to not take offence to Din's aversion to the school.

"He's shy," she says, allowing Grogu to trace her markings with a curious finger, "most consider him cold or guarded, but he's not. He's just—" she smiles softly, helpless and charmed, "—socially inexperienced with these sorts of matters."

Luke’s breath catches in his throat at Ahsoka’s implications – Din? Shy? _Awkward_?

Goddammit.

* * *

_~~Luke.~~ _

_~~I think you have the wrong idea about myself and the people I'm sending into school. I'm not romantically attached to them, nor am I shy as Ahsoka insinuates, I simply~~ _

_Message Deleted!_

* * *

Luke writes up a list of everything he knows about Din, acutely aware that R2D2 is watching with severe judgement gleaming in his beady eyes:

  * _has brown eyes_
  * _has a son_
  * _adopted him_
  * _kind_
  * _clever_
  * _protective_
  * _mechanic_
  * _shy/introverted/awkward_
  * _wears leather a lot_
  * _is vaguely husband-shaped_
  * _has those shoulders_
  * _has those thighs_
  * _has that waist_
  * _has that…_



He doesn't get very far before he rips it up out of sheer embarrassment.

* * *

Bo-Katan Kryze walks in and Luke is just _stunned_.

She is a colleague of his sister's and he can't believe that Din knows her. He can't believe that he and Din have been so close to meeting, yet— _oh_. Maybe they have met? He still doesn't know what the man looks like, but Luke is pretty sure he'd remember a pair of shoulders that delectably broad.

Still, it's baffling that Bo-Katan has walked into his classroom to pick up a child. She works in some fancy business corporation and Han swears down she's a royal of some kind, but then again, Han also has a theory that Leia is a princess too, so what does he know?

She allows Grogu to cling to her legs, smiling indulgently at the child before her eyes flit up to Luke. She's about as discernible as the rest of Din's entourage, though Luke finds himself standing straighter in her presence.

"You're Mr Skywalker, I presume," she says, slow and deliberate, "I've heard a great deal about you."

 _Funny, seeing as I've heard nothing about any of you_ , Luke thinks sourly.

"Oh? From Grogu, I'm guessing," he says instead, grinning when Grogu grizzles in response, "I like to think we've become friends and—"

"I cannot speak to Grogu," Bo-Katan interjects silkily. "His father, on the other hand, well," her smile turns a touch patronising, "for such a stoic man, he can be _quite_ the chatterbox when the mood strikes."

Luke blinks, unsure as to how to react to the revelation that Din talks about him!

"H-He… he is?" he queries.

Bo-Katan merely smiles serenely and turns neatly on her heel. "I look forward to meeting you again, Mr Skywalker," she says with a graceful wave, "I do think you might be good for him."

"For Grogu?" he asks, canting his head, "you're talking about Grogu, right?"

But all he gets is a quiet laugh before he's left alone in his classroom.

She… she was talking about Grogu… right?

 _Right_?

* * *

"Bo-Katan picked up Grogu today," Luke says with little fanfare, stalking into Leia's apartment with fierce intent, "Bo-Katan picked him up and implied that I would be good for Din. She knows Din and you, Leia," he rounds on his sister, "you know Bo-Katan, which means in a sort of roundabout way, _you_ know Din too!"

He pants heavily as he points accusingly at his sister, uncaring that she's in the middle of an apparently romantic meal with Han – complete with candles and chocolate-covered strawberries.

Leia's frozen in the act of hand-feeding Han one of the aforementioned strawberries, her face contorted with confused outrage before Han sighs heavily and plucks the strawberry from her fingers.

"Bo-Katan works in a completely different company to me," Leia explains patiently, rubbing her temples wearily like Luke is giving her a headache, "we have three annual meetings at most, and we barely talk at social functions. What gives you the idea that I would know Din from all that?"

"Is Din a princess too?" Han teases, though there is a serious squint in his eyes.

"I am not a princess," Leia tells him primly. "We're _heiresses_ – there's a difference."

"Not outside the bedroom, apparently."

Luke grimaces and rolls his eyes up to the ceiling despairingly.

"Behave."

"Put me in the stocks then."

"Din isn't a princess," Luke interjects sharply, rolling his eyes with a huff, "he just knows princesses apparently." Leia groans as she is wont to do whenever Luke indulges Han in his conspiracy theories.

"So do you," Han snorts, snatching up another strawberry, "man doesn't have the monopoly on royal connections, so it's not like this makes him special—"

"Everything about him is—" Luke cuts himself off, face heating up with mortification as Han lurches forward with interest. Whatever his brother-in-law intends to say next is smothered by Leia's hand flying across his mouth.

"You're a grown man," Leia tells him delicately, "you've been flirting with each other online for weeks, so just ask him out. You're making this to be a bigger deal than it needs to be. This is not a romcom, stop treating it like one."

Luke blinks at her.

"What are you trying to say?" he says, narrowing his eyes.

But Leia doesn't answer him in words, rather she just tips her head into her hands and emits a rather pained, albeit muffled, scream. It's all very dramatic. Luke really doesn't know what he's supposed to do with her reaction.

He looks at Han who simply eats another four strawberries in succession and distantly wonders why he keeps coming to them for help.

* * *

_Din,_

_I hadn't realised you were friends with Bo-Katan._

_My sister works with her sometimes, Leia Organa? I don't suppose you've met her or heard of her…_

_I should stop being surprised by the kinds of people you're friends with, but it was quite surprising to see a supposed heiress walk through my classroom door._

_It's nice that Grogu has so many people who love him._

_Luke_

* * *

_Luke._

_Honestly, I don't think either of us had a choice regarding a friendship. Besides, she owes me about thirty-five favours and Grogu likes playing with her hair._

_I guess I've never considered the type of people I associate myself with but I must admit, I've never heard of Leia Organa before. Apologies._

_As for Grogu? He deserves love. All of it._

_Din_.

Luke rubs at his face and sighs; the man is actually apologising for not knowing his sister.

This means Luke has to apologise for accusing her of a crime she's never actually committed.

Goddammit.

* * *

Slowly, and without Luke even being aware of it, other parents start getting involved in the _Grogu Babysitter's Network_.

It begins with Omera, whose daughter was the first child to befriend Grogu. Winta used to be a shy, introverted student at first, though she's lately come out of her shell and is typically the first to ask a question in his class or volunteer for a project.

She's managed to encourage the other children to sit with Grogu now that he's ceased stealing from them.

There's Captain Carson Teva, who makes it adamantly clear that he isn't doing this for Din but for Grogu and even then, that would be pushing it. He's gruff around the edges but isn't mean about it, plus Luke enjoys how he speaks to his granddaughter and Grogu like they're adults.

Somehow, Luke gets the feeling Grogu understands the man regardless.

Then there's Ms Grenouille, whose children were initially wary of Grogu but then realised that the best way to get him to stop biting them was to bite back. Grogu found it absolutely fascinating, though Luke despaired at the marks on his skin and hoped Din wouldn't be too mad about it.

Either way, he's slowly gotten over the fact that he might never meet Din and—

Nope.

No, that's a lie.

It's been nice meeting everyone the man considers important to Grogu's life – Luke just hopes that one day he'll be considered important too.

* * *

_Luke._

_I'm surprised no one's bit him back sooner._

_He's not hurt though, is he? No blood? Please let me know if this happens again._

_Din._

God, Luke is so gone for this man, how has he fallen so quickly for someone he's never really met?

* * *

Koska Reeves walks in that afternoon. Luke knows that if he ever meets Din, then there's a high chance of Leia meeting all of Din's impressively scary friends and he doesn't think the world has a strong enough constitution to handle all that power in a single space.

She doesn't say much – just walks in, picks Grogu up and walks back out, blowing raspberries in the child's delighted face.

Although Finn does come in moments later with eyes full of awe.

"She _really_ liked you!" he says, waltzing up to Luke with a broad grin as he claps Luke on the shoulder soundly. "Do you think Din is trying to hook you up with one of his friends?"

And honestly, that's even worse than Han's theory of Din trying to kill him off.

* * *

_~~Luke.~~ _

_~~I don't know how you managed it but Koska approves of you and she doesn't approve of anyone, how did you~~ _

_Message Deleted!_

* * *

Luke comes to the end of his rope when Boba-fucking-Fett walks into his classroom, head held high, swaggering into the room like he _owns_ it.

Grogu immediately perks up and rushes over, grizzling and cooing as Boba picks him up.

"Hello, little Skywalker."

"Boba Fett," Luke says mildly, carefully eyeing the way Grogu nuzzles deeper into Boba's touch; he also makes a note as to how silently swift Finn's exit is. The man has been relentless in teasing Luke over his crush on Grogu's dad, so it's interesting to see how quickly his impudence deserts him in the face of someone truly intimidating.

Of course, Luke doesn't really consider Boba Fett intimidating – more irritating, truth be told.

"How is your brother-in-law?" Boba asks politely, his gaze piercing as he distantly allows Grogu to play with his fingers.

Luke clenches his teeth and forces himself to smile. "Han is fine, thank you for asking."

"Pity," Boba sighs, an affable expression playing on his otherwise impassive features, "I had so hoped to… _catch up_ with him."

 _Over my dead body_ , Luke thinks and is very concerned over the type of sordid individuals that Din apparently associates with. Boba Fett and Han had gotten into quite the tussle some years ago, which ended with Han in a coma and Boba Fett disappearing from the face of the earth. The demand for Boba's arrest simply faded away when Han woke up; the man was uncaring that he had almost died and seemed more distressed by the fact that Leia had seen him in a hospital gown.

Then, upon waking up properly, he expressed reluctant respect for Boba Fett and promised that the next time he crossed paths with the man, it wouldn't be _him_ resting in emergency care.

Luke isn't entirely sure how or why Boba and Han got into an altercation – only that Han's dodgy dealings crossed paths with Boba's underworld rulings which led to a disagreement of exhausting proportions.

"I'm sure he wouldn't share the sentiment," Luke says through gritted teeth, and for the first time, Grogu emits a noise of distress in front of him.

"Pity. I wouldn't mind a rematch," Boba grins sharply, before he shushes Grogu with a soft croon, "in another life, perhaps? As it is, I no longer have the time to play with black-market dealers. I have bigger fish to fry, I'm sure you understand."

Luke scowls, eyeing Grogu with fierce concern.

"I'm somewhat inclined towards refusing you permission to leave with that child," he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the next; it's been a while since he's had a fight, but he is more than willing to throw a punch if it means protecting Grogu. "So, you best find a way to persuade me within the next five seconds."

It's a challenge and one that Boba – irritatingly enough – rises to easily.

"I'm sure you're aware of Din's protective nature – rivals a lioness at best," Boba says, rocking Grogu gently when he begins to fuss, "if you don't trust me, at least trust in him to know what he's doing."

Annoyingly enough, Luke _does_.

He takes one look at Grogu who stares back at him with a small frown and tries to envision a future where he doesn't want to punch Boba Fett in the fucking face. Then again, it's how Leia met Han, so maybe his vitriolic feelings towards the man could slowly dampen down to something more… _tolerant_.

Or maybe Boba will finally meet his match and end up dead in a ditch somewhere so Luke will never have to deal with him again. Either option suits him, truthfully speaking.

Grogu babbles at him with a whine, and Luke knows that he needs to start picking his battles more carefully.

Plus, Headmaster Yoda would _not_ be happy if he starts another fight in his classroom, so…

"Fine," he relents because Grogu really is starting to look concerned, "but don't make me regret this."

"As if I could ever make you do anything," is Boba's parting shot before he stalks out of the classroom, Grogu patting at his cheeks as he babbles with incessant worry.

* * *

_Din,_

_How the hell do you know Boba Fett?_

_Luke_

* * *

_I tried to kill him once. It's how I meet most of my friends honestly._

Luke stares at the screen and knows that somewhere, Leia is laughing at him hysterically.

* * *

_Din,_

_A violent environment isn't very conducive to a healthy life for Grogu – you are aware of that, right?_

And then Luke pauses because his message has completely missed the flirting tone he's been aiming for and instead sounds horribly condescending.

_If you haven't yet learned that lesson, then I'd be happy to educate you._

_Luke_

_PS: You are joking, right?_

Nailed it.

* * *

_Luke._

_Thank you for the offer._

_I am intimately aware of what happens when my companions occupy the same space for a substantial amount of time. Due to last year's Winter Solstice, we found that Cobb and Boba cannot be in the same room unsupervised, especially if alcohol is around. Similarly, Ahsoka and Bo-Katan need to have at least three people separating them at a table._

_We also cannot give Fennec a knife._

_Koska cannot have a knife either._

_No one is allowed to have knives._

_In an ironic twist of fate, Grogu is the one who ends up overseeing them rather than the other way around. It's disconcerting how little the revelation surprised me._

_Do not worry about them, though. They love my son and would not bring any harm to him. I've also found that Boba is quite inclined towards giving me anything that I ask for even before I'm aware that I need it, so I don't believe he'll be a problem._

_Trust me._

_Din._

_PS: Naturally, I'm joking Mr Skywalker. Most of them have actually tried to kill me first._

* * *

It takes Luke a disconcerting amount of time for him to read the email in its entirety, as his mind keeps stumbling on how Din has written _intimately aware_ and tries to imagine the man saying it in front of Luke's face.

He imagines a husky voice, rough around the edges but soft like silk.

Fuck. What is he _doing_?

* * *

"He knows Boba Fett," Luke announces, running onto Leia's bed with ardent desperation; it might be 6.00am on a Saturday, but he needs his sister's advice and Han's unsolicited opinions on this matter. Or perhaps, he needs their continued support and maybe their approval too – after all, Boba tried to kill Han.

It would be quite the downer at birthday parties when— if he gets together with Din.

"He knows Boba Fett and he lets him babysit his kid," Luke repeats, "he can't meet me face-to-face, but he's happy to let Grogu be cared for by… by Boba- _fucking_ -Fett!"

"Who's being cared for by Boba-fucking-Fett?" Leia murmurs, cracking her eyes open to peer at her brother. It's a testament to how many times Luke has done this that they don't question it anymore – nor do they kick him off the bed.

"Grogu. Din _knows_ Boba Fett," he says emphatically, "how does one man, who barely exists, know so many people? Do you think… do you think he's in cahoots with him? Like, underground cahoots?"

"The boy is saying _cahoots_ , Leia," Han notes with lazy amusement.

It's distressing how little they seem to care about the severity of the situation.

"He tried to kill you," Luke says.

"Who hasn't?" Leia murmurs, rolling over with a stifled yawn.

"Shouldn't I worry about who Din is friends with? He's got his child being cared for by a convicted killer," Luke stresses, anxiously clutching onto the strands of his hair.

"An almost convicted killer," Han points out with a shrug, "besides, your sister has a point – who _hasn't_ tried to kill me. Leia thinks about killing me three times a day."

"Often it's five times before noon," Leia teases, her voice thick with sleep.

"Shouldn't I report this?" Luke asks, nudging at Leia's leg, face creased with concern. Han finally sighs and sits up, canting his head as he steadily regards Luke's borderline hysterical breakdown. "I mean, he says I should trust him and I do… but he also might have implied that Boba Fett is some kind of sugar daddy and I don't think I can compete with that."

"Not with your salary," Leia comments with a snort.

"See," Luke enforces, thrusting a hand in Leia's direction, "all I have is an artificial hand and really nice hair. Which, admittedly, is more than I can say for Boba."

There's a beat of silence.

Leia suddenly, blindly, reaches for her husband and smacks at him insistently.

"He's feeling insecure," she announces, "if he's like this before 10.00am then it's your job to fix it."

"I know, I know," Han says, batting her hand away with a heavy sigh.

Luke isn't sure how he feels about them having set shifts for dealing with him; in the grand scheme of things, it isn't the worst thing he's recently learned.

"Listen, pal," Han begins, holding up a hand to enforce his advice, "didn't you say Din works as a mechanic of some kind? The guy probably ran into Boba on a job, it's not unheard of. They're most likely legitimate work buddies or something." Okay, yeah, that does seem appropriate and not at all like Luke's harrowing visions of Din being a hitman for hire. "What _is_ unheard of is this guy's level of accidental charisma," Han's tone turns appreciative as he settles against the headboard with a sigh. "The guy should bottle it up and sell it as an aphrodisiac – it clearly works, so he's basically sitting on a goldmine."

Han stares at Luke pointedly, who does not appreciate those implications.

"You are _never_ meeting him," Luke states seriously.

"Funny that," Han says with a smirk, "because apparently, neither are _you_."

Luke gapes at him, outraged at the sheer audacity and the hurt only blossoms when he hears Leia snickering quietly at him.

Well. That settles it.

"Chewy is the one who keeps breaking your stuff," he announces to Leia before he jumps from their bed and stalks out of the room, pleased with the carnage he's left behind.

Honestly, he's never going back to them for help again.

* * *

_Din,_

_Please, for the sake of my heart, elaborate on your working relationship with Boba Fett._

_Luke_

* * *

_Someone vandalised his car. He came to me to have it fixed._

_Buffering out the carved insults was easy enough – removing the blood from the leather interior, however…_

* * *

_Please tell me that was ‘blood’ is a typo for something else, I don't know what it could be a typo for, but please, please, please tell me Boba didn't murder someone in his car and had you clean it up._

* * *

_I'm kidding._

_Boba would never kill someone inside his car._

* * *

Fennec drops Grogu off the next morning, pausing only to shoot Luke a wry smile and a short nod before leaving.

He stands there, momentarily stunned by the way her sharp features lit up, only to reminded of Grogu's presence when he feels a tiny hand tug on his pants. He glances down and softly smiles at the large eyes peering up at him; really, he ought to have gone to Grogu a lot sooner.

"Hey buddy," he says, ducking down, "Auntie Fennec again today?"

Grogu nods jerkily.

"And I suppose… your dad won't be picking you up again?"

Grogu nods again.

Luke opens his mouth, bites his lip and hesitates – Grogu is only a child; it would be so inappropriate to ask him if his dad is single, but he can at least be a little honest.

"I really want to meet your dad," Luke says, his eyes skittering away for a second when Grogu coos with intrigue, "I just. He seems _nice_ , that's all. Brown eyes. Good arms. Nice." He clears his throat awkwardly as he finds himself spiralling into a Din-shaped daydream.

And Grogu blinks, his intelligent gaze sharpening as he tilts his head. Luke feels stripped raw under his stare and it's like he's being emotionally and mentally x-rayed; he doesn't think he's ever met a child quite like Grogu and honestly, he'll miss him when he leaves his class at the end of the year.

Better to savour the time they have together now before… well before Grogu moves on to the next class and in doing so, causing Luke to lose his reasoning for messaging Din.

Still, no point mourning something he's never had.

"Well," Luke murmurs mostly to himself, gathering Grogu into his arms to carry him into school, "even if he is single, I'm sure he could do better than me anyway. Your dad knows a lot of impressive people – what's a kindergarten teacher in comparison, really?"

* * *

_Din,_

_I'm afraid Grogu is sick – could someone come and pick him up, please?_

_It's nothing serious, but I think it best for him to get some rest at home._

_Luke_

* * *

Din reads the message and instantly panics.

He forgets that he has his friends and allies written into a timetabled schedule of Grogu Pick-Ups/Drop-Offs, finds that he doesn't care that he made contingency plans for everything but sickness, doesn't care that he's in the middle of a job, doesn't care that it means running into Grogu's pretty and kind teacher – his son is sick and Din just… panics.

He gives Peli a half-hearted apology as he sprints out of her auto-shop and leaps onto his bike, swiftly kicking the ignition switch to storm down the road towards _Yoda's Academy_. His entire world crumbles away and becomes reduced to a mere flickering thought: Grogu needs him.

He fingers the silver ball in his pocket and feels his heart lurch painfully.

Grogu needs him.

And that's all that matters.

* * *

Grogu is not sick – he hasn't been sick in years and will probably never be sick in the years to come.

He is, however, rather quite desperate.

He's had to suffer weeks of watching his dad curl over his laptop as he stresses over every word he writes, wondering if it's too forward to say that _Yoda's Academy_ is the best school he's chosen, or that he's grateful for Mr Skywalker's kindness towards Grogu. Weeks of having to tolerate Mr Skywalker's unsubtle probing of his dad's dating life, of having to watch as he tries to make small-talk with his dad's friends, of having to actually, physically witness Mr Skywalker assume that each and every single one of them is his dad's partner.

Then he has to hear about Mr Skywalker apparently giving up? When he's probably the best and only candidate worthy of his dad's heart? The man is kind and giving but understands where to draw the line on Grogu's mischievous behaviour. He's firm and fair; Grogu knows that if his dad does get together with Mr Skywalker, then he'd at least have someone to help him with his homework. Auntie Ahsoka only has so much time to spare; everyone else is pretty much useless.

And if all that wasn't bad enough, he's also witnessed the bets, with Auntie Cara assuming they'll get together by the end of the year and Uncle Boba saying that he'll be dead before Din steps foot in the school.

Grogu doesn't want that.

Grogu especially doesn't want that, as Uncle Cobb is the only one who'll let him join in on the bet and he really wants him to win because the jackpot will earn him a lot of cakes. So, he pretends to be sick and asks Winta to help him appear physically ill – she helpfully heats up a blanket and covers his face with it, helping him achieve that flushed, hot look which has most parents scrambling for WebMD.

Mr Skywalker is no different.

He takes one look at Grogu and immediately asks Winta to fetch someone from another class to watch them as he needs to contact Grogu's dad to inform him that his son is feeling unwell. It's a perfect plan, perfectly executed and it better have the perfect outcome. If Uncle Cobb loses this bet, then Grogu will be most displeased.

Once his dad has been emailed, Mr Skywalker ushers Grogu to the reception, leaving a nice man called Mr Threepeeoh behind to take care of the class in his short absence. Winta winks at Grogu and he mimics her, learning early on that it's a sign of mischievous comradery.

When they get to reception, Finn simply clucks his tongue at Grogu, passing him a cool bottle of water from beneath his desk and gestures for him to sit on the plushy sofa by the front door. Mr Skywalker sits next to him, positively trembling with nervous energy and Grogu dearly prays that his dad actually does turn up. He watches as Finn arches a brow at Mr Skywalker, who flushes and shoos Fin away with a sharp flick of his wrist.

Interesting.

Grogu kicks his legs as he keeps his ears tuned towards the street; Nana Peli's auto-shop isn't that far from the school, which had been an initial selling point until his dad saw how pretty his teacher was. Now it's become a source of anxiety, with his dad worrying about bumping into Luke every time they go into town. Auntie Cara finds it endlessly amusing, with Aunt Koska declaring his dad to be a coward – in her opinion, he ought to have asked Luke out upon their first meeting.

Which is, admittedly, how she got together with Aunt Bo-Katan, but Grogu believes that people travel at different speeds, so it's not fair to assume his dad would operate as quickly as she would.

That being said, he hadn't anticipated a turtle's pace either, so maybe she has a point.

"Oh, that must be… that must be him," Mr Skywalker breathes, stepping to his feet when the rumble of a distant motorcycle grows in volume. Grogu watches quietly as Mr Skywalker runs a hand through his hair, brushing himself down as he peers at himself in the window. "How do I look?"

"Like you have a sick child to look after," Finn points out dryly, "though the boots are a nice touch."

"Are they? Han got them for me," Mr Skywalker says, glancing down at his knee-high black boots. Grogu doesn't think he's allowed to wear them to school, but Mr Skywalker has been doing many things he shouldn't be doing at school – like flirting with his dad. "Oh… oh, it's him. Finn, Finn, it's him."

"You're never allowed to complain about my Poe-stories ever again," Finn says, "also his boss – Peli, I think – called in with a very specific message for you," Finn clears his throat before he says, "he's single so put us out of our misery already." He grins as Mr Skywalker's face grows pale then pink then an alarming shade of scarlet. "Gotta say, I think she has a point," Finn adds before he peers through the window to gawk at Grogu's dad.

He's clearly come straight from work – he's dressed in dark grey overalls, a leather jacket and his helmet perched perfectly on his head. He's covered in grease and dirt; Grogu honestly despairs, because his dad is supposed to be making a good impression. Then again, Mr Skywalker looks pretty dishevelled himself, seeing as he has finger-paint scattered across his shirt and a distinctive juice-stain on his jeans. Also, he looks like he's about to faint whilst throwing up. But the boots _do_ look nice.

Maybe they're perfect for each other after all.

Grogu watches as Finn presses the buzzer to let his dad in – Mr Skywalker jolts at the noise, his cheeks growing flushed as Grogu's dad stalks into the reception. He can't see his dad's face, but his movements are stiff and frantic, meaning he's worried but doesn't really know how to handle it. Grogu merely coos and runs into his dad's legs, not enjoying his distress in the slightest and wanting to fix it immediately.

His dad is quick to scoop him up, cuddling him close as he swipes a gloved hand across Grogu's forehead. In his other hand is a small silver ball, clenched tightly between anxious fingers. Grogu croons softly, hands flying up to play with his dad's necklace as he tries to exude a soothing aura towards the upset man.

"Hey pal," his dad murmurs, worry dripping from every syllable as he checks him over, "are you okay? Are you hurt? What do you need?"

Grogu merely catches his dad's fingers to nibble at them, pleased that his plan has gone off without a hitch. His dad has finally walked into the school, has finally met Mr Skywalker and now maybe they'll get married and have a big wedding cake made out of vanilla cream.

"He's got a temperature," Mr Skywalker finally pipes up, his expression wreathed with pleasure as he finally captures Grogu's dad's attention. "Apart from that, he seems tired. I think he just needs rest… if this is his first time at a school, then he may be just overexerted from all the work and attention. Take him home and maybe feed him some of those cupcakes I know he likes – you never know, he could make a miraculous recovery."

And Grogu giggles, because that's exactly what he needs – a nap and some food and maybe for his dad to propose to Mr Skywalker so Uncle Cobb can win the bet.

His dad, however, freezes to the spot; he slowly looks up from Grogu to gaze at Mr Skywalker and though his face is hidden beneath a helmet, Grogu can hear how his breathing has hitched, can feel his increased heartbeat and the slight quiver in his hands.

His dad is flustered.

"I… thank you," his dad utters, sincerely polite.

"You're… you're welcome," Mr Skywalker says softly, ducking his head with a pleased smile.

Grogu watches them stare silently at each other and vaguely wonders if this is what Auntie Cara means by useless men being useless. He shares a look with Finn who seemingly agrees that this stretched silence is awfully painful to bear witness to.

Well.

At least they're breathing in each other's general direction – that's progress, right?

* * *

_Luke,_

_Thank you, Grogu is feeling much better. Interesting how it only took two hours and three cupcakes for him to achieve the picture of health._

_I have considered your proposal. I believe I may have time in my schedule for a coffee date._

_We can talk about it more tomorrow when I drop Grogu off in the morning._

_Din._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Because I've been so blown away by the lovely reception of this story, I've decided to add to it by including BONUS CHAPTERS to the work. I don't know how many I will write, I don't know what they'll be about, either way, you are invited to[visit my blog](https://dinahdarling.tumblr.com/) to learn more about Kinder!DinLuke <3.**


	2. BONUS CHAPTER: The Date

Sometimes, Grogu doesn't know why he even _bothers_.

"Come anywhere near my side of the table and I'll introduce you to the business end of my fork."

"Interesting. You're so eager to start a brawl that you're willing to ruin Din's date? Some might call that selfish. Wouldn't you agree, Fennec?"

"I'm just surprised that she's chosen the fork – Koska, would you like a demonstration as to why the knife would be better?"

"If anyone starts anything, I _will_ end it – understand?"

"Princess is getting _testy_ , boss. We should _behave_."

Grandpa Greef sighs heavily and glances down at Grogu. "And here I thought you were the only one I was babysitting tonight," he says, dutifully passing Grogu the red crayon when he babbles at it urgently. The staff had given him an activity sheet when they first arrived at the café; he's been excitedly scrawling all over it whilst the adults fought around him ever since. He's getting better at identifying colours too, so any opportunity to show that fact off is greatly taken. "I should get Din to pay me extra for the emotional damage alone."

"Is Din paying you for tonight?" Auntie Cara pipes up with interest, her dark eyes scanning Grandpa Greef closely, "because I hadn't been paid _once_ during my babysitting duties. Including the school-runs."

"Oh, don't pretend you _weren't_ doing them for Grogu's sake," Uncle Cobb teases, reaching across Grandpa Greef to playfully tap Grogu's ear. "Our little buddy here _needed_ us." Grogu babbles happily, leaning into Uncle Cobb's touch automatically; ever since his uncle won the bet, he's been overwhelmingly willing to spoil Grogu rotten with affection and presents. Even this whole day out is being paid for via Uncle Cobb's winnings – although, considering he's using everyone else's money, _technically_ , they're paying for themselves anyway.

But no one is willing to bring that up just yet – Grogu supposes they're all waiting for the opportune moment to get one over on Uncle Cobb.

They can be disconcertingly patient when the mood strikes them.

"What he _needed_ ," Aunt Fennec corrects sharply, placing down her teacup deliberately, "was his dad to get over himself and just cease with being a foolish coward."

"He got there eventually didn't he?" Uncle Cobb says, subtly gesturing to where Grogu's dad is sitting with Mr Skywalker. "Look at him – our little boy is all grown up."

They all turn to stare at where his dad is sitting with Mr Skywalker. Their table is situated in the centre of the room, cloistered by other customers enjoying their own coffee dates. It's probably not as private as his dad would've liked but it's cosy, nonetheless.

The café itself is small, sweet and smells strongly of cinnamon. It's apparently owned by an ex-military man who knows Mr Skywalker personally, which Grogu only knows about because his dad had researched the place to death before his date. He's pretty sure his dad perused the exits, the security system, the location and the menu in preparation – in that exact order too.

Grogu doesn't understand why his dad even _bothered_ looking at the menu when he first arrived; though, he supposes it had been for appearance's sake. His dad _is_ trying to play it cool despite being anything but, according to Aunt Koska.

"Not _that_ grown-up," Grandpa Greef remarks dryly, "he's still got me doing drop-offs some mornings."

"That's for when he's legitimately working," Uncle Cobb says, waving his hand around airily, "leave him alone."

"Never mind school-runs, look at him now! I can't believe he's still got the helmet on. Why does he still have the helmet on?" Aunt Bo-Katan complains, eyeing Grogu's dad with clear distaste. Grogu grumbles at her; he doesn't understand why she's so mad about his dad's wardrobe though he supposes it has something to do with Uncle Boba having bought most of it.

And okay, his clothes could be better but the helmet isn't harming anyone.

Grogu likes the helmet; he knows Mr Skywalker is pretty fond of it too.

"Don't you remember the last time someone asked him to take it off?" Auntie Cara says, arching a brow, "it ended with him literally setting that person on fire – now, who was it again?" she queries innocently, mockingly tapping her chin in thought.

Aunt Bo-Katan bares her teeth before she downs her coffee with a restrained grimace. She takes it black which Grogu doesn't understand in the slightest – where's the fun in drinking something if it isn't doused in sugar and syrup?

"I _had_ hoped he would have grown beyond his need for shallow vows of honour," she says delicately, "perhaps I was wrong."

"Don't sound so surprised," Uncle Boba says, his quiet voice steady and unflinching, "you often are."

"Now, now Boba – no need to antagonise the lady," Uncle Cobb interjects smoothly, winking at the man when he gets his attention. Grogu isn't sure why Uncle Cobb provokes Uncle Boba so much, but he supposes people like to flirt in different ways. He's just glad that his dad and Mr Skywalker don't flirt with weapons like the rest of his family; his classroom wouldn't look so homely with blood splattered all over it. "We're here for a _lovely_ meal with friends, don't go spoiling it."

"I find it interesting that you seem to be under the impression that we are friends. Do you think I have forgotten what you did last year?" Uncle Boba asks, staring steadily at Uncle Cobb with a sharp grin full of teeth, "I don't take too kindly to _thieves_."

"Oh? Would you consider taking me _selfishly_ instead?" Uncle Cobb flirts, his dimpled smile on full display, "or perhaps you'd let me take you, hm?"

"I'd eat you _alive_."

"I'd honestly let you," Uncle Cobb grins broadly.

"I'd consider him a choking hazard," Aunt Fennec tells Uncle Boba, "better not risk it."

"That only applies to _small_ objects and trust me," Uncle Cobb says, his eyes flashing as he leans toward Aunt Fennec with a sharp smile, "I _never_ skimp on size."

" _Child_!" Grandpa Greef suddenly announces, gesturing pointedly to Grogu beside him; Grogu merely cackles as he scribbles across the paper; he's honestly heard worse and though he never really understands most of it, he knows that they're most likely talking about _adult_ things whenever Grandpa Greef reaches his limit. "There's _literally_ a child right here!"

"He's seen and heard worse," Uncle Cobb says, glancing knowingly at Grogu, "allegedly." Still, he looks suitably contrite and leans back into his chair.

"I told you to stay at home with him," Aunt Bo-Katan mildly tells Grandpa Greef, "or at the very least, to have left him with Peli."

"Peli is on a date with that… what's his face, _Kuiil_?" Grandpa Greef replies and Grogu whines at his softly bitter tone. He thinks Grandpa Greef _likes_ Nana Peli but no one is allowed to say anything about it apparently. Honestly, adults are so silly. "Besides, his _father_ is going out with his _teacher_ , do you seriously believe he would have stayed at home even with supervision?" Grandpa Greef continues dryly; Grogu agrees with him using a trilling giggle, hands flying in the air to emphasis his point.

It's true.

No one can stop him.

Not even Grandpa Greef.

"He has a point," Auntie Ahsoka finally says, piping up for the first time since she sat down. "Remember how I attempted to home-school him for the first time? He managed to escape the house and was halfway towards Peli's Auto-Shop by the time I noticed him missing." She sounds faintly impressed; Grogu nuzzles into her side, pleased that he's made her proud.

"And _you're_ going to be a qualified teacher?" Aunt Koska says snidely, ignoring Aunt Bo-Katan hushing her to settle. Sometimes it's so difficult trying to keep up with who is friends and who isn't, but Grogu supposes that isn't something for him to worry about.

His dad certainly does enough of _that_ around Winter Solstice.

Auntie Ahsoka turns to Aunt Koska with a mild smile. "I already am a teacher – care for a lesson in manners?"

"Fucking hell," Uncle Migs interjects, shaking his head with a rasping laugh. "I thought this was supposed to be covert. Why don't we just drag our chairs over and join them at their table, let them _really_ know we're here?" He ends the argument before it has a chance to form, though Aunt Koska still throws Auntie Ahsoka a cold look. Grogu doesn't think anyone in his class has a family like his, but he doesn't really mind.

Their arguments rarely get physical nowadays; they've collectively learned to at least try and keep their verbal fights to a minimum as well. Grogu knows it's for his sake and really, he loves them all the more for their efforts.

"As if they'd _actually_ notice our presence," Aunt Fennec says derisively, eyeing Grogu's dad with thinly-veiled disappointment. "All they've done so far is talk about Grogu, made their order and now they're just… staring at each other in silence." She bares her teeth in frustration. "I _knew_ we should've forced the hidden ear-piece on him, he's hopeless without us."

Grogu sighs unhappily because Aunt Fennec is _technically_ right – apart from Mr Skywalker inquiring about his dad's wellbeing and Grogu's whereabouts, they've done nothing but stare at each other whilst shyly tangling their legs under the table.

But that doesn't necessarily mean things are going badly.

After all, Mr Skywalker is wearing a small, pleased smile whilst his dad is letting someone else physically touch him – that has to mean something because it's a pretty big deal for his dad not to shy away from being touched.

His dad has even taken his gloves off – Grogu can spy the messy blue nail-varnish he painted on his dad from where he's sitting. Mr Skywalker had complimented the colour the moment they had sat down, causing his dad to duck his head out of flustered embarrassment, so the date _must_ be going well.

"Oh god, it's that _waiter_ again," Aunt Koska suddenly hisses unhappily.

Uncle Boba sits up straighter, a sign that he's on high alert as his lips curl into a sharp grin. The waiter approaches his dad's table with their orders perched atop a silver tray – a medium mocha in a takeaway cup and a mango smoothie in a tall glass. Grogu can't really hear the exchange of words; he can see Mr Skywalker's expression of thinly-veiled irritation and his dad's shoulders shaking subtly out of amusement.

"I recognise that waiter," Aunt Bo-Katan murmurs curiously under her breath, "I'm sure of it."

Uncle Boba snorts.

Grogu doesn't understand why; he wants to get Aunt Koska to ask her why, but then he's distracted as Mr Skywalker takes a fork and stabs the waiter cleanly in the thigh. Grandpa Greef is quick to shush him when Grogu shrieks aloud in a panic because he's _never_ seen Mr Skywalker get violent before! It's a big deal, but now all the adults are worried that his dad will notice their presence which is so silly. His dad _clearly_ already knows that they're there; he's been awkwardly waving at Grogu with his fingers for the past ten minutes and literally, _no one_ has noticed.

Well.

Except for Grogu, but he _always_ notices _everything_ his dad does.

Then Mr Skywalker stabs the waiter again. Grogu has to wonder if this is just a normal thing for his teacher to do. It's odd, considering the man is adamant about having a nonviolent atmosphere in his classroom; maybe all bets are off outside school? Uncle Migs erupts with raucous laughter, whilst Aunt Koska stifles a snort and nods approvingly.

"I like him," she announces shortly, with Aunt Bo-Katan nodding indulgently, their fingers threaded together atop the table. Grogu coos at her words and babbles excitedly when she winks at him.

"As do I," Uncle Boba says, with interest carefully threaded through his words.

"I saw him first," Aunt Koska says, rising to a challenge that doesn't exist (nor does it necessarily _need_ to) just yet.

Uncle Boba simply arches a brow and Grogu just groans with annoyance, fingers automatically reaching for the necklace around his neck to ground himself because the atmosphere has suddenly grown impossibly _tense_. Ever since his 'sick day', his dad had given the pendant to him as a little reminder that no matter how far apart they are, he's still with him in heart and spirit. It had only made Grogu feel slightly guilty about tricking him and lying to him…

But he's always wanted the necklace, so the guilt hadn't lasted long.

"No," Uncle Boba finally replies through sharp teeth, "you _didn't_."

"What do you mean?" Aunt Koska says, suspicion running through her quiet tone as she sits up with narrowed eyes. "I met that little teacher far before you." But Uncle Boba merely shakes his head with a cool look on his face.

"Did she _not_ meet him before you?" Uncle Cobb pipes up with a quirked brow.

Uncle Boba merely hums and takes a measured sip of his sparkling water.

"When did you meet him?" Aunt Koska demands, turning to Bo-Katan with a baffled expression; finding no answer, she rounds on Uncle Boba, impatiently irate. "When the fuck did you meet him and why are we only learning about it now?"

Her voice grows increasingly sharp and acidic; she's instantly shushed as heads duck behind menus quickly. From what it sounds like, there's a _very_ telling kicking-war taking place under the table.

Grogu grumbles, throws his crayon onto the table and once again wonders why he even _tries_ to bother.

* * *

"I really _am_ sorry," Din says quietly, ducking his head as Koska's outraged demands slowly die down to furious whispers. He would have left Grogu with Kuiil, but the man had been otherwise… engaged; regardless, Greef should know better than to let the child boss him around and— no, now Din's just being a hypocrite. "I had not anticipated their presence, I assure you."

"It's fine," Luke is quick to assure him, leaning forward with a pleasant smile; his eyes sparkle as he lowers his voice conspiratorially, "you know that waiter who keeps hitting on you?" Din hums in response, his leg prickling with heat when Luke rubs his ankle against it gently. "It's my brother-in-law."

He sits up in mild surprise. "I didn't know he worked here," he says, which he ought to have known considering he took an excessive amount of time finding out who did, where they were from, if they could be trusted to handle his food…

This one must have slipped his grasp – or he's new if his behaviour is of any indication. Honestly, Din hadn't been bothered by the waiter's attention, had barely even taken stock of them; how could he, with Luke sitting before him looking as lovely as he had the first time Din's eyes fell upon him?

"He doesn't," Luke admits, a sheepish expression fluttering across his face.

"Ah," Din utters, glad that he kept his helmet on to hide his utterly perplexed expression; damn, and he thought his family was strange and— no, no, he still has the strangest family. "Guess that explains why he took you stabbing him so well."

It's a recently acquired fact of Din's that only family can forgive stabbing incidents so quickly and with such a blasé attitude. But only because the culprits tend to get stabbed back.

"Yeah, it's a… horribly frequent occurrence," Luke says, averting his eyes with slight mortification. "Sorry, I must have embarrassed you."

"It's fine," Din says, quick to correct Luke because honestly, seeing someone getting stabbed barely blips on his radar nowadays. "It's quite nice to have my honour defended for once."

Luke snickers wryly, subtly pointing to the table which houses Din's cluster of strays and vagabonds.

"You wouldn't consider them being here defending your honour?" Luke argues. His words are wrapped up in a gentle tease, his expression is wreathed with a soft fondness.

"Maybe," Din relents partially with a shrug, "but I can guarantee that they're mostly here due to their relentless habit of invading my life." His words make Luke laugh and he finds himself absolutely mesmerised by the series of tinkling chuckles falling from Luke's lips.

He… for a moment, he wonders what it would be like to feel that laughter against his own lips.

But only for a moment.

"If it makes you feel better, I'm pretty sure I just saw my sister and receptionist duck behind a pair of menus a minute ago," Luke says, straining his neck to peer behind Din with a dazzling smile. "An-nd they're here with their friends too. Of course they are."

"Must be karmic retribution," Din notes, hearing the exasperation in Luke's voice; he bites back a hidden smile when Luke cocks his head curiously, "you know, for not having your sister introduce us sooner."

Luke groans, his head tipping back as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Every day I regret telling her off," he mutters, letting his head fall back again to face Din with a shrewd expression. "If I had known she'd actually text Bo-Katan about _that_ conversation, I'd have kept my mouth shut."

"Somehow, I really doubt it."

Luke's response is to merely pout into his drink; the expression has Din almost melting into his seat because truly, the man is just so… so…

 _Cute_.

* * *

"Do you think he keeps his helmet on all the time?" Rey queries, innocently curious as they all carefully watch the couple before them.

"I don't know… he must take it off to shower. And sleep," Rose replies, before wrinkling her nose, "and _kiss_?"

"Luke tells me that Din used to be part of this family – still is, really. They take vows of courtesy, integrity, honour. He keeps his face covered out of respect, apparently," Leia explains patiently, scowling when she sees her husband grinning broadly from behind the counter; why he thought it best to go undercover on Luke's date, she doesn't know. She rolls her eyes, drumming her fingers against her growing bump as she turns to Finn with a curious hum. "Finn, did you used to take your mask off to kiss?"

It's a fraught issue, bringing up Finn's past, but Leia is perfectly aware that Finn's reasons for covering his face differ greatly to Din's reasons. She supposes consent is a big deciding factor, though she can't help but be a little curious still.

"He would lift it up," Rose answers automatically.

"I could've answered that," Poe points out mildly, which has the table erupting in a chorus of exasperated sighs.

"Poe, we've _all_ kissed Finn at one point," Rey says, rolling her eyes fondly, "you really need to–"

"But you all kissed him first," Poe protests, sitting up straight with a displeased pout. "It's the principle of the matter!"

"Would you rather I kissed him after you got together?" Rose teases him and Leia can sense that this conversation has been had multiple times before; she can spy the glimmer of reluctant amusement in Poe's eyes and the way Finn leans into him naturally.

Oh, to be young and in love again.

Her eyes drift automatically to Han; she finds herself smiling despite herself.

Well, one out of two isn't so bad.

"Babe," Finn says, linking his fingers with Poe, wedding rings clinking together softly, "if it makes you feel better, you're the only one I'm kissing now."

"Damn straight you are," Poe grins broadly before he gestures to where Luke is sitting with a lazy flick of his wrist, "bad enough that I had to learn about _Luke_ kissing you, but now—"

" _Luke_ kissed _Finn_?!" Leia interjects sharply.

* * *

Luke chokes on his smoothie as Leia's scandalised question echoes throughout the cafe. Din's expression might be hidden behind his visor but he hums lightly with enough distinct interest that Luke knows he's being laughed at.

His face prickles as the urge to explain himself washes over him.

"It was Summer Solstice!" Luke protests, wiping a hand across his face, "we were— there was so much _alcohol_! It was _before_ he met Poe and he's _married_ now— I don't—"

"It's fine," Din chuckles, his voice husky with amusement; it has Luke shivering in his seat and he's almost glad he can't see Din's face. There certainly is such a thing as too much of a good thing and if he had to witness that laughter visually then, well – he might have just died. "I'm certain I've kissed one or two of my own friends, so…"

"Only one or two?" Luke teases, curling his foot around Din's ankle; ripples of tingling, tantalising pleasure dance up his leg and burst into his chest at being allowed to touch Din, to finally converse with him in person and just… be so close to him.

"Maybe most of them," Din relents, canting his head.

"You keep the helmet on?" Luke quirking a brow, eyes falling upon Din's fingers which twitch upon the table; the nails are painted blue with most of the varnish splattered across his skin. Apparently, Grogu wanted to help his dad prepare for his date and honestly, Luke had been this close to popping the question there and then.

To be fair, he's still on the verge of asking the question, because Din's fingers are actually quite lovely – long and elegant, extending from strong hands and oh, fuck, he's genuinely _smitten_. Luke's heart is actually quivering in his chest; Din is typically covered from head-to-toe, whether it be motorcycle leathers or auto-shop overalls. He _never_ allows his skin to be bared.

Until tonight.

And Luke really, really, really wants to touch Din's bare skin, to tangle their fingers together and feel that warmth in his palm. But that might be too much, too forward and too soon. For now, he settles for entwining their legs together as he teases the man he's utterly besotted with.

Din resolutely does not answer his question.

Luke's grin widens. "I can't see your face but you're radiating the same kinda aura my sister does when I tease her too far."

"And you have the same ruthless grin Boba wears when he knows he's gotten under my skin," Din replies, causing Luke to blanch automatically at the name. He inwardly curses himself when Din's shoulders hunch up defensively. "Sorry, I know you don't like him."

Luke opens his mouth to argue but closes it again.

There's no point in lying, not about something like this.

"I'm trying very hard to ignore the fact that I've basically got my back to him and also the fact that my brother-in-law is in the same vicinity as him," he says with a measured voice, drumming his fingers idly atop the table. "If Leia knew he was here, he'd be dead."

"The fight would probably be the highlight of his week," Din replies and Luke knows he's absolutely right. Honestly, it consistently perplexes him that a man as devoted, as protective as him, would allow a man like _Boba-fucking-Fett_ to care for his child.

It's a mystery which Luke doesn't think he'll ever solve.

"You really trust him with Grogu?" he asks, trying hard to keep his tone neutral. He'd rather get hit by Chewy's ancient truck than lose his chance to properly date Din Djarin over _Boba-fucking-shitting-Fett_.

"I do," Din says, firm and unwavering as he shrugs. "He's surprisingly good with kids – adults? Not so much." Then he tilts his head and hums with amusement. "Especially if you're Koska. Or Bo-Katan. Or Cobb."

Luke worries his lip, weighing up the pros and cons of trying to persuade Din to just drop his friend but then realises it would come across as creepily controlling. Besides, he imagines he'd only have to tolerate _Boba-fucking-shitting-dicking-Fett_ like, once or twice a year?

He could deal with that.

"I guess I could learn to live with his general existence," he says, lips quirking up in a helpless smile.

"If you want to stab him with a fork, I wouldn't mind," Din tells him, which has every inch of anxiety evaporating from Luke's shoulders. Honestly, Han had been so wrong – the man is so, so, so special.

"Oh, I'd never take that opportunity away from my sister," Luke remarks, fingers absently circling the rim of his glass before his gaze flicks up fleetingly, "although, I have to ask… is he really your sugar daddy?"

Din blinks.

"Is he my _what_?"

* * *

Grogu has never seen Aunt Fennec laugh so hard before and it almost makes him worry for her health; she's clutching at the tablecloth, her entire body quivering as she emits a series of soft snorts. Uncle Boba merely gazes at her stonily before he arches an indolent brow at the rest of the table.

Most seem to take after Auntie Ahsoka, who hides her amusement behind an elegant hand.

Then there are others like Uncle Migs, who joins Aunt Fennec in her bout of outright hysteria.

"So, _are_ you his sugar daddy?" Auntie Cara asks silkily, looking endlessly amused as she considers him with glimmering eyes.

"I am not—"

"You bought him a new bike when he crashed his last one, you got him a new wardrobe, you buy him food whenever you both go out, you babysit Grogu for free," Aunt Fennec lists off, her eyes glittering darkly, "I'm your glorified bodyguard. You've never done any of that for me."

Uncle Boba says nothing, which actually speaks volumes as a response.

Grogu merely babbles, silently laughing at Grandpa Greef's pained expression and Uncle Cobb's look of sheer betrayal.

Honestly, adults are so, _so_ strange.

* * *

"I think Fennec heard you," Din says, mildly exasperated by his family's antics. And the fact that they're like this in public _and_ during his first date, goddammit. "I think she's enjoying this far too much."

"Yeah," Luke snickers, his pretty eyes sparkling as he glances over to the counter; his smile turns slightly strained, though his eyes are still bright from sheer happiness. Honestly, Din could stare at his face all day. "Shit, I think Han's just noticed that Boba's in the café – this really can't end well, can it?" He groans and rubs at his temples. "Fuck, maybe we should have gone somewhere more private."

"Next time," Din says with a shrug, curling a hand around his takeaway cup.

"Next time?" Luke's head snaps up, his brows arched high eagerly. It has a lump forming in Din's throat for reasons he can't explain and suddenly, he finds himself wanting to do more than tangle their legs together under the table.

He… he wants to hold Luke's hand. Touch his hair. Feel his soft skin and warm body. He wants anything Luke will give to him; everything and _more_. Din's never been a selfish man, but he can't help but _want_ , can't help but yearn to _keep_ , to have _this_ just for his very own.

He's only ever felt like this selfishness towards Grogu, but he never imagined he'd feel it in this capacity too.

It's… _strange_ and new and nice, all at once.

"Next time," Din repeats before he nudges at Luke's calf playfully. "And you can pay." Luke smiles and nods, his cheeks flushing pink as he brushes a lock of hair behind his ear. Din's eyes track the movements carefully, watching how Luke's hair shines in the light and how the strands curl delicately at the ends.

Inwardly, he vows to touch Luke's hair by the end of the week – just to see if it really is as soft as it looks.

"I suppose I could do that," Luke replies, slowly drawing Din out of his reverie. His eyes light up impishly as he sips at his smoothie, glancing at Din over the rim of his glance. "You know, I forgot to tell you this earlier, but Yoda finally told me what a padawan is."

Din sits up because it's been eating away at him ever since he found Yoda's Academy online.

"And?" he prompts, gesturing for Luke to finish.

"Apparently the term vaguely means student," Luke says with a shrug, "it's a translation from some ancient language that he used to study. He thought it would help his school stand out more and well, he's not wrong."

Din nods, his eyes flickering across the café to land on his son; Grogu is nestled between Greef and Ahsoka, giggling as he makes a mess of the activity sheet he's been given. His fingers twitch and his heart shudders in his chest as he watches Grogu smile and babble to himself. Din never thought he'd ever love something so fiercely, so purely, so much.

"And Grogu," he utters before he even considers the question properly, "is he good at it?"

Luke blinks at him. "Good at…?"

"Uh," Din blinks and offers hesitantly, " _padawan_ -ing?"

There's a tiny beat of silence as he feels his neck prickle with heat, his cheeks flushing, his heart pounding as he takes in Luke's stunned expression. The momentary pause only lasts several seconds before it's broken by a series of snorted amusement as Luke throws his head back and chortles loudly.

Any mortification Din could have felt dissipates from his feelings of sheer bewitchment; he's truly captivated by the sight of Luke's honest delight. He doesn't even care that Luke is technically laughing at him.

Din will ask as many stupid questions as he physically can if it incites this reaction from the pretty man before him.

* * *

"What do you think Din said?" Auntie Cara asks, mystified.

"Fuck knows," Uncle Migs replies, equally confused, "the bastard is never _this_ funny."

* * *

"Oh! He made Luke laugh!" Rey declares happily, "that's a good thing, right?"

"It's not _that_ hard to make him laugh," Leia snorts, "the man finds Han's dad jokes funny."

* * *

It takes a moment, but Luke's hysteria eventually settles down.

"You know," Luke finally says, his voice thick with laughter as humour sparkles in his eyes, "we might not have had the alone time we wanted, but this has been… this is perfect." Din smiles and nods because it's true. Even with their audience, any time spent with Luke is time well spent. Plus, Grogu is clearly pleased with him going on this date, so what else could he have hoped for? "It's also the closest I'll ever allow our families to get without building a solid barrier between them first."

Din snorts, in complete agreement.

"Make it bullet-proof," he suggests, only partly serious.

"Obviously," Luke snickers, biting at his lip as he reaches to snatch up his smoothie, lifting it in the air for a toast. His cheeks flush darker; Din is instantly charmed despite himself. "To families?"

Din picks up his own mug and meets Luke's glass with a nod.

"To families."


	3. BONUS CHAPTER: The Orphan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Dedicated to[blackbirdie25](https://blackbirdie25.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for [their inspirational post](https://blackbirdie25.tumblr.com/post/639325534045798400/yodas-academy-for-lil-padawans-dinluke-12k) on Din meeting Grogu for the first time <3**

_This probably isn’t what Kuiil meant when he said I should get a pet_ , Din thinks wryly as he steps through the gate, _this isn’t even a shelter_.

It isn’t a shelter for _pets_ , at least. Though, he supposes calling an orphanage a _shelter_ wouldn’t exactly win him brownie points with anyone, so he keeps his thoughts to himself.

He’s not even here to adopt anyway, he’s simply here on a job, so Din isn’t sure why his mind is considering adoption even in jest. If anything, he ought to be focusing on why he’s even here in the first place for a job which doesn’t even relate to him being a mechanic.

Oh, right.

 _Peli_.

She had received a call earlier with her friend being desperate for someone who could help her fix the broken boiler at the orphanage. Instead of telling her friend to _ring for a mechanic_ , Peli sent Din over.

He’s never fixed a boiler before but Peli simply instructed him to quit complaining – after all, he knows his way around a wrench, right? He can’t possibly make the situation any worse, huh? Then she kicked him out and told him not to return until he’s successfully unfrozen the little orphans and brought her back some homemade cake.

Din ventures up the path towards the orphanage; it’s not the imposing building he had imagined on his ride over, nor is it the sprawling fields and cosy cottages that he remembers when he was young and orphaned. It looks like it used to be a church, remodelled with cheery paint and colourful signs declaring the place _Temmin’s Sanctuary_. He eyes the sign and wonders if the foundlings of his clan consider their orphanage to be as much of a sanctuary as he had, years ago.

He dearly hopes they do.

Din flexes his grip on his toolbox as he lifts a fist and knocks heavily on the door.

Instantly, a commotion rises from behind the wood and Din automatically takes a step back. He knows what can happen when excitable children come across a visitor – especially when his clan’s foundlings seemingly forget all their training and all but rush at him whenever he visits. It’s an endearing, if a slightly _painful_ , experience.

He steels himself when the door slowly creaks open, but Din cocks his head curiously when he sees no one there behind it.

Then he hears a giggle.

And Din looks down to see the tiniest child he has ever encountered.

The kid is all huge eyes, big ears, mischievous toothy smile and tiny twitching nose. Din smiles despite himself and ducks down onto his haunches, setting the toolbox down beside him. The child coos and reaches up with a hand, blinking slowly when Din reaches back and allows the child to curl his fingers around Din’s.

“I heard you have a broken boiler,” Din murmurs, eyes tracing over the little wrinkled head, the tiny wisps of hair, the surprisingly strong grip from such a little body, “want to see if I can break it further?”

“Booh-wahp!” the child exclaims, bleating happily as he blinks up at Din, “booh-wahp!”

Din arches a brow and nods – he’ll take that as a _yes_.

“So, are you the boss here? Are you going to be the one signing my paycheck?” Din asks, softly humming when the child smiles with a chattering coo, “don’t suppose you could—”

“There you are!” interjects a voice, which is swiftly followed by the appearance of a woman. She’s tall, slender with pale skin and even paler hair. She looks frantic as she scoops the child up into her arms, turning around to shout, “Shirene! I found him!”

The child grizzles sullenly and Din stands, suddenly remembering that he has a job to do and it’s _not_ entertaining young ones.

The woman turns around and sighs, giving Din a look of appreciation. “From what I can see, I guess you’re the one fixing our boiler?” She’s pointedly glancing from the toolbox to the greasy overalls on Din’s body; they’re dark grey, frayed at the bottom with _Peli’s Auto-Shop_ embroidered on the breast.

“I’m here to try,” Din says, not wanting the woman to get any ideas about his level of capability when it comes to broken appliances. It’s not that he’s _terrible_ per se, he’s just not as skilled as a professional. Or Kuiil for that matter, who had taken it upon himself to try and teach Din the basics when he first became the man’s neighbour.

The lessons very rarely ended well.

The woman merely nods, rocking her arms when the child begins to fuss, reaching over to Din with a pleading expression. She shakes her head and steps to the side, allowing Din to walk into the orphanage. It’s completely different from his clan’s – it’s messy and disorganised, toys scattered everywhere and a strong smell of burning toast permeates through the air. It honestly reminds him of a time… before his clan.

Din swallows hard, tightening his grip on his toolbox as the woman closes the door behind him.

“My name is Esmelle,” she introduces herself, holding out a slender hand for Din to take. He introduces himself and firmly shakes it. Esmelle continues, “I hope you don’t mind taking on the job. Every mechanic I normally call always swindles me out of more money and Peli is the only reliable person I know who could probably handle a problem like this. I assume you can handle it too?”

“Well, I can’t make the situation any worse,” Din honestly replies with a shrug.

“Better than nothing,” Esmelle sighs, glancing down when the child tangles his fingers in her long hair, “I hope this one didn’t give you any trouble.”

“He was…” Din gazes at the tiny body and feels his heart tremble, “he was fine.”

“That’s a first,” calls out another voice and Din turns to see another woman approaching. She’s curvier, with darker skin and curlier hair. She walks up to them and takes the child away from Esmelle with a broad, dimpled smile. “Because you’re a little terror, aren’t you?” The child babbles happily. “Yes, you are! Yes, you are!” The child giggles as she nuzzles him softly.

Din’s heart trembles again at the sight.

“I’m Shirene, Esmelle’s wife,” she introduces herself with a nod, “and I am begging you to fix our boiler before we have more carnage at bedtime.”

“Din Djarin and… is it really that bad?” Din asks, flexing his grip on his toolbox.

“Have you ever seen two five-year-olds fight over the same blanket?” Shirene asks, arching her brow. Esmelle laughs shortly before she nods to them both and disappears down the hallway; as she rounds the corner, there’s a chorus of childlike cheers and Din’s skin prickles at the sound. It’s a surreal sensation, one he did not expect to feel in a place such as this.

Din considers the possibilities and decides that he needs to visit the clan’s foundlings more; it’s the only conclusion he arrives at which justifies him feeling so out of sorts in this place. The child peers over Shirene’s shoulder and babbles at the sound, arms reaching towards the hallway with a needy whine.

“Not lately, no,” Din replies shortly, dragging his eyes away to look at Shirene once more.

“It’s not pretty,” Shirene tells him, staring off into the middle-distance with thinly-veiled horror flittering across her expression.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Din says, jutting his chin towards the stairs, “I guess the boiler is upstairs?”

“Oh, yes,” Shirene says, shifting the child from one shoulder to the next, “come with me – I’ll take you to it.” She turns and begins ascending the stairs; as Din follows her, his eyes fall upon the child who steadily stares at him with curious eyes.

“So, you’re a Mandalorian, right?” Shirene asks as they ascend the stairs, “I don’t really know of anyone who wears helmets like you do without being a, well, _you know_.”

“I _do_ know,” Din responds with a nod, “but yes, I am. I’m surprised you’ve heard of them.”

Shirene chuckles. “I haven’t,” she admits, “Peli warned us to not ask about the helmet, told us that you’d break our boiler further if we insulted you.”

“I wouldn’t have done that,” Din tells her, “I mean, I probably will break your boiler but not intentionally.”

“I appreciate that.”

She takes him a cupboard at the end of a long hallway with doors leading into individual bedrooms. The child babbles and she ducks to the ground, allowing him to clamber down and totter off into one of the rooms. Din watches him leave with a faint pang of loss – he doesn’t get a chance to examine why he would feel such a thing, as Shirene swings open a creaking, wooden door with a flourish.

“Here we are!” she trills, gesturing to a large, rusted boiler with more pipes and wires than is probably considered healthy. Din feels mildly relieved that he has a helmet to hide his features, for he knows that the interplay of horror, fascination and apprehension would not have filled Shirene with much confidence.

“How old is that thing?” he asks, approaching it like a predator does to a prey – swift and silent. Except, Din isn’t sure he knows of any prey as old and as temperamental as the thing before him. One wrong move and it’ll probably explode, then where will he be?

Tired _and_ soaking wet, that’s where.

“I think it came with the church, honestly,” Shirene replies with a small frown.

“Right,” Din says, “you ever consider replacing it?”

“Oh sure,” Shirene says with a wide grin, “let me just get out my magic cheque book for my magic bank account full of magic money! Whilst I’m at it, I might buy a Tesla and a mansion in Saint Tropez!”

Din sighs and nods. “I guess I am cheaper than a Tesla,” he says, setting his toolbox down to fully analyse the boiler situation. He blinks when Shirene’s hand clasps his shoulder warmly; his skin instantly tingles beneath the heat of her touch and he tries to ignore how much he wants to lean into her.

“Most of us are,” she says sympathetically, jerking her head towards the mess of pipes and wires, “good luck!”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later and Din is beginning to think he’s gonna need more than luck.

He’s turned off the electricity leading to the boiler, tightened up the pipes and picked out the frayed wires but he’s suspecting that the issue lies with the boiler’s age. A lot of parts have rusted and worn away and will require replacing. _Expensive_ parts, too. He doesn’t think the orphanage has that kind of budget, but Din knows that he could always buy the parts through the auto-shop’s budget.

Peli is typically good for it and Din’s always brought in more money than he spends.

Plus, she _owes_ him – she’s not allowed to hold giving him a job over his head anymore, so Din’s pretty much ready to start cashing in on favours.

“So, what’s your verdict?” Esmelle’s voice suddenly calls out to him, appearing behind Din silently. Years of training his instinctual reactions have allowed Din to expect the unexpected but even she managed to surprise him. “Is it a lost cause?”

“Well,” Din begins, throwing his hand towards the mess on the floor. “I’ve fixed up cars and bikes with less, so I wouldn’t throw in the towel just yet.”

“Good to know,” Esmelle notes watching as he picks his tools, carefully sorting out the correct wrenches and spanners he’ll need to start tackling the boiler itself. He’s acutely aware of the moment when she ceases watching his hands and begins to watch _him_ ; her gaze leaves his nape prickling and Din has to glance up to see if she has a further issue to press or question for him.

“Something wrong?” he prompts, canting his head.

“I just wasn’t aware that your kind kept the helmet on,” Esmelle notes bluntly, her tone innocently curious despite her poor word choice and the fact that Peli has already informed her of his circumstance. It has Din biting back his initial retort because honestly, he has heard worse. And he’s about to do worse to her boiler. And she’s signing his pay-check, so.

He’s picking his battles, honestly.

“How many other Mandalorians have you met?” he asks instead, canting his head.

Esmelle blinks slowly, a small smile twitching on her lips. “That’s… a very good point. I’m sorry, I’m honestly just as bad as the children sometimes,” she concedes before she turns away with a short nod. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.”

She walks away as silently as she had appeared, her blonde hair dancing behind her.

“Thank you,” Din calls out to her, turning to the boiler to sigh at the rusted appliance. He flips the switch back on to feed electricity back to the boiler, wanting to pinpoint the exact problem, only to blanch as it begins to spark and crackle. He considers calling Kuiil, but then he feels a small tug on his overalls. Strangely, he has an idea as to who his little visitor is exactly and sure enough, he looks down to see a pair of large eyes blinking up at him. The child peers up at him with a trilling coo, ears twitching as he clutches onto Din’s clothes; Din wonders when the child had slipped away from his caretakers, but something tells him this is a frequent occurrence.

He huffs out a short laugh and gestures to the boiler. “Don’t suppose you know where to start?” he asks, half in jest.

The child coos curiously and totters over to the boiler. He peers around with a soft coo and totters over Din’s tools to pat at the large appliance, his ears twitching as he tilts his head to the side. He glances down to the ground and scans the tools with a twitching nose, bending over to paw at the objects with curious hands.

Almost on instinct, Din lurches forward because there’s no way this can end well.

And sure enough, his fears come true when the child picks up a frayed wire and promptly shoves it into his mouth.

* * *

“I am so sorry,” Din says again, passing the bleary child back to Shirene, “I didn’t know he’d try to eat the wires.”

Shirene snorts and shakes her head at the bundle in her arms, checking him over with gentle fingers and shrewd eyes. “Honestly,” she says, “he’s eaten worse.”

Which sounds utterly terrifying if Din’s being honest.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, this one is always getting into trouble, aren’t you?” Shirene sighs, tickling at the child’s stomach with a finger. The child simply guzzles in response, arms flailing to try and stop her assault. “He’s…” Shirene begins with a sigh, “well, he had a bit of a troubling start to life. He was left in a cradle outside this place. No note, no toys, just him swaddled up tightly. It’s been pretty easy getting him settled into this place, but he does have a habit of stealing from others and we’ve only just managed to get him to share.” Her tone is melancholic but fond, and Din watches the child carefully, his hands twitching by his side. “He’s also nonverbal and Esmelle thinks we need to have him assessed for underlying learning difficulties because he’s smart – _very_ smart – but. He’s just—”

“Nonverbal?” Din interjects, holding up a hand to halt her explanations, “but he speaks to me?”

Shirene gives him a patient smile. “His little noises don’t really count according to his doctor” she shrugs, “that being said, I’ve always thought that if he understands us just fine, then maybe it’s just a case of people trying to understand him instead?”

Din hums thoughtfully as the child whines, strained and tired, as he bats at Shirene’s face.

“You might have a point,” he says, sighing as he remembers the mess he left upstairs, “listen, I need to get some new parts for the boiler – is it alright if I come back tomorrow to try again?” The child perks up at his words and reaches for him with quivering arms. “I won’t charge you any extra,” he adds, reaching over to allow the child to cling onto his finger, “and I won’t electrocute anymore of your children.”

“Well, I should hope not on _both_ accounts,” Shirene says with a teasing smile, her eyes shrewdly watching as the child holds Din with a tight grasp, “have you any children at home?”

“I… not at home,” he tells her, placing a hand to his chest as he tries to explain his experience with children, “my clan cares for foundlings and I visit when I can but I’m not a father.”

Shirene arches a brow. “Could’ve fooled me,” she says wryly, “don’t suppose you’d be interested at all? You’ve certainly charmed this one,” she gently jostles the child in her arms, before nodding towards the stairs, “and there’s a few others up there who are just as taken with you.”

Din hums as he carefully removes his fingers from the child’s clutches. “I am not a father,” he repeats, “I don’t have the time for a child.”

“It’s not about having time,” Shirene says, gathering the child closer to her chest, “it’s about making time.” Then she shrugs, relenting. “Though parenthood isn’t for everyone, so I won’t pester you again.” She shoots him a conspiring look. “The _kids_ on the other hand…”

“I understand,” Din says, holding up his hand, “I’ll try not to give them any false hope.”

The child in Shirene’s arms reaches out for him and he fears he’s spoken too soon.

* * *

Din leaves the orphanage without another incident and heads back to his motorbike.

He pops open the storage box and throws his toolbox inside the space meant for his helmet; he slams down the lid and winces when his bike creaks in protest to the rough treatment. It had taken a while to modify the ride to suit his needs and though it always sounds like it’s moments away from falling apart, his Triumph 1959 Tiger Cub has gotten him through some pretty tough times.

Peli had gifted it to him for his first anniversary of working at her shop – of course, the _original_ state of the bike consisted of a bare frame and a single wheel, with Peli promising to help him hunt down the missing parts he’ll need to fix it up.

The Razor Crest isn’t much to look at but she’s a damn-sight more reliable than anything else on the roads.

He reaches inside his pocket to tug his keys out only to pause when his fingers grasp at thin air.

He tries his next pocket, then the pockets inside his overalls… but his keys aren’t to be found.

“Where…” Din pats himself down, head snapping to his bike to check that he hasn’t left the keys in the ignition. “What the…” They aren’t there and he’s certain he slipped them inside his pocket as he always does. He glances back at the orphanage and wonders if they’ve fallen out at some point; he’s certain he would have noticed them missing but then again, electrocuting children does tend to be quite distracting.

With a short sigh, Din jogs back up to the orphanage and knocks on the door. Shirene opens it, her eyes widening with surprise as she glances him up and down. She no longer has the child attached to her and absently, Din hopes he’s okay.

“Back so soon?” Shirene asks, arching her brow.

“I’m sorry, I can’t find my keys,” he explains quickly, ducking his head, “I hope you don’t mind but could I please check the place?”

“Oh, feel free!” Shirene beams at him, moving aside to let him in. Din nods in gratitude and steps through the door, “I’ll get the others to join the hunt – what do they look like?”

“You won’t be able to miss them,” Din tells her, “there are five silver keys, one for a motorbike and they’re kept together with a leather keyring. It has a Mythosaur on the front, so—”

“Mythosaur,” Shirene shoots him a thumbs-up, “got it. I’ll go tell the kids.”

“Thank you,” Din tells her sincerely.

He watches as she disappears upstairs, calling out to the children to look for the nice man’s keys. His lips twitch helplessly at her description and he has to pull himself away from the stairs to go hunting himself. He treks through the hallway and passes the kitchen, glancing inside to see if someone has left them on the table.

He continues sweeping through a dining room, a playroom, a downstairs bathroom, another playroom until he reaches a dead-end in a tiny library. Din places his hands on his hips and hopes they turn up soon because he doesn’t think the Razor Crest will survive being hotwired again.

“Booh-wahp!”

Din blinks at the familiar sound and rotates slowly.

“Booh-wahp!”

Sure enough, the little child he had almost killed stares at him from the doorway to the library. He looks a lot better than he had mere moments ago – his eyes are brighter; his skin looks healthier and he’s happily cooing away as he plays with something in his hands. Din wonders if it had been a fleeting moment of surprise or perhaps the child just needed some comfort and—

“Oh,” Din utters with mild surprise and relief, his eyes falling upon what the child is playing with exactly. “I see you found my keys. Nice going, kid.”

The little child stares up at him in response and promptly shoves the keys into his mouth.

“No!” Din panics and rushes over, having awful visions of the child choking on the leather keyring keeping everything together. “Don’t eat them,” he admonishes, falling to his knees in front of the kid. “You don’t grab someone’s stuff and put in your mouth, it’s not safe.”

The child giggles and drools over his keys, tiny teeth digging into the leather.

“What, you don’t have your own toys?” Din asks, holding out his hand patiently. The child stares at it balefully, little fingers clinging onto the charm as he begins to whine. Din sighs and tilts his head, crooking his fingers softly to encourage the child to hand them over. “I know, I’m so cruel.”

The child snorts miserably and looks up at Din as if to say, _yes, you’re the cruellest_.

“I feel like I’m committing a war crime,” Din says, pained. His tone drops to something cajoling and sweet as he tilts his head at the kid. “I promise to replace them.” The kid hums curiously. “I could even find something _edible_.”

The child blinks at that then promptly spits the keys into Din’s hand.

“Yeah, I thought that would do it,” he chuckles, wiping the keys off on his overalls and tucking them safely away inside his pocket. “So, what’s your poison? Cookies? You like cookies?” Din asks, regarding the child as he stares intently at the pocket hiding his prize. “Or are you more of a savoury kind of kid?”

“Bahh,” the child replies which Din takes to mean _everything_.

“Right,” Din tells him, nodding shortly, “understood.”

* * *

“Did you fix it?” Peli asks when Din returns to the auto-shop.

She’s sat at a table playing online poker with her sister’s children; triplets who probably aren’t old enough to be gambling online but seeing as they’re the only ones who can actually beat Peli, Din stays out of it and silently roots for them on the side-lines.

Also, he thinks they’re cheating.

He’s not sure how the triplets can cheat at online poker but honestly, he’s a little wary of actually asking them about it. Plus, if they can’t cheat then Peli can’t lose, so it’s a win/win, really.

“Not yet,” Din replies with a sigh, “seeing as I’m not a plumber.”

“Oh,” Peli says, narrowing her eyes as she deliberately taps away at the keyboard, “better luck tomorrow, I guess!”

“Any particular reason why you can’t go and fix it for them?” Din asks her, setting his toolbox on the side.

Peli sits up and stares at him from over her screen.

“Because,” she says, rolling her eyes, “ _I’m_ not a plumber.”

And Din can’t really respond to that, doesn’t have the energy or the willpower to engage in Peli with her word-games and quick wit. She’s one of the few individuals who can get away with teasing Din, riling him up and mocking him fearlessly; the fact that she genuinely doesn’t fear him does touch something in his heart.

The fact that she gave him a job – instead of having him arrested when he broke into her auto-shop all those years ago – also has a hand in why Peli gets away with things she says and does.

Like now, for instance.

“I guess I have time to go back again tomorrow,” he says, relenting.

“Of course you do!” Peli agrees, returning to her game, “you have zero social life!”

* * *

Din would argue that he _does_ have a social life.

It’s just conveniently and rapidly being eaten up by orphans and their lack of heated air.

Honestly, give him a car with one working wheel, busted windows and no engine and he can fix it up, blindfolded, to factory-standards. Give him a single kickstand and three days, he’ll produce a whole new bike. Ask Din in Spanish, in sign language, in Latin, in _Pig_ Latin to remake a whole bus with only a spanner and three screws to work with and he’s on it.

But a _boiler_?

Din grits his teeth as he’s greeted by Shirene who simply gestures towards the stairs with a sly grin.

“Good luck,” she says with a sing-song lilt.

“I’ll need it,” Din tells her seriously, politely turning down her offer of a drink.

He wanders upstairs, greeting every child who passes him and answering every question thrown his way. He falters when a young boy eyes him with thinly-veiled suspicion and he tries to curl into himself into posture less intimidating and large.

“Are you going to make it warm again?” the boy asks, cocking his head.

“I’m trying,” Din honestly says.

“Oh,” the boy utters, “well – could you try faster? B-Because I have to share a bed with my sister, and, and, and she steals all the covers and she won’t even let me have the pillow either. It’s freezing at night, so, um, so I wake up and I can’t even feel my legs!” He kicks his legs at Din as if to enforce his point. “Do you get cold?”

“Not often,” Din says, wondering if he needs to bring extra blankets on his next visit should he fail to restore heating to the orphanage again.

“Oh. Is it because you have a helmet? Why do you wear the helmet?” the boy asks, inching closer with every brave word he says. “Does it really keep you warm? Do you have lots of scars, like, um, like that guy from that movie I saw? I can’t remember the name… do you not like your face? Because, because my sister has make-up, and you can borrow some of it if you like?”

Din chuckles and shakes his head.

“She can keep her make-up,” he says, before he taps his helmet softly, “this is important to me. I keep it on because my family believes that our faces are… sacred. You know what the means, right?” The boy nods with a smile. “Okay, and because they are sacred, only _special_ people who we really love and trust are allowed to see what’s underneath.”

“Oh,” the boy says for a third time, understanding dawning on his face, “that makes sense.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” the boy nods, before he rushes past Din towards the stairs, “okay, go and make our home warm again, please!”

“I will,” Din calls back, feeling every inch of stress just wash away from him in that moment of innocent curiosity. He wishes the adults of his world were half as accepting as the young boy, or at least, were just as satisfied with his simple explanation. Inwardly, he decides that he will bring extra blankets to the orphanage, regardless of whether he fixes the boiler or not.

It’s the least he could do for such a kind reception.

As he continues his journey back towards the boiler, Din is mildly surprised to find someone already waiting for him outside the cupboard. The child is patiently sitting on the ground just toying with loose threads in the carpet before glancing up and cooing when he sees Din.

“Oh, it’s you again,” Din murmurs, ducking down to gently pick the child up, “what else have you tried to eat this week?”

The child cackles, hands flying in the air with sheer delight as he pats Din’s helmet.

“This would be ambitious,” Din notes, gesturing to his helmet, “even for you.”

The child still presses his mouth against the hard plastic, gently sucking on it with soft snorts of contentment. Din huffs out a short chuckle, struggling to pull away the ten pounds of fierce determination when he begins to lick at the visor, smearing Din’s vision in messy strokes.

“Don’t they feed you here?” Din questions, tucking the child into his arms as he ventures into the orphanage. “Come on, you can help me break the boiler again. Just don’t eat the wires. You can have my Oreos instead.”

The child cheers, hands shooting in the air as he sways his body happily.

Din merely chuckles and holds the child closer.

* * *

“I hear Peli’s got you running around an orphanage,” Cobb tells him over the phone whilst Din takes a break, “said she’s helping you develop some social skills.”

“I hear Boba’s close to finding out who stole his jacket last summer and got it ripped,” Din throws back at him, tossing an Oreo to the child when he reaches for it insistently, “said he’s gonna rip their head off, see how they like it.”

“You know, I think I _would_ like it,” Cobb says seriously, which is the end of _that_ conversation.

* * *

Din thinks he’s fixed the boiler until he realises that it will only work in ten-minute intervals before dying once more with a protesting croak.

Din thinks he’s made the whole situation even worse and feels glad that he had the foresight to bring extra blankets with him this time.

“Are you sure you want me back?” he asks Esmelle as they both stare at it uselessly, “I can find someone else who can do the repairs just fine.”

She arches a brow. “Yes, but _you_ promised not to charge us any extra,” then her expression softens as she considers him, “I can’t help but wonder if you’re truly this bad at fixing boilers or if you’re breaking it on purpose to have an excuse to return.”

“No, I really am bad at fixing boilers,” Din says, hanging his head, “please, if it’s too cold for the children, I _can_ contact someone to fix it instead.”

Esmelle nods and pointedly looks down to where the child clings onto Din’s trousers, fingers clawed into his leg as he stares up at Din with wide, gleaming eyes.

“No,” Esmelle says, slowly shaking her head, “I think you’ll get there eventually – just get there fast? For now, I will thank you for giving us the extra blankets. The children will appreciate them.” She sighs and cants her head, narrowing her eyes at Din. “Are you certain you don’t have ulterior motives for ruining our boiler?” she asks, eyeing the child carefully.

“No,” Din replies, though it tastes like a lie for some reason, “I don’t.”

Esmelle nods, clearly thinking otherwise. “Okay,” she relents, “we’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

* * *

That evening, Din picks up a set of washers from Peli and tucks them inside his toolbox, only to pause when he pulls out a scribbled drawing, stashed hastily beneath a set of screwdrivers.

Din gently tugs it out and is surprised to find a soft green scribble and bigger, spikier, grey one scrawled across the creased paper.

Above them is a sloppy heart, drawn with a bright orange crayon.

His fingers tremble slightly as his eyes take in the drawing; he’s not sure why, but his throat closes up and his heart begins to pound. Din’s received gifts like this before, from the foundlings in his clan; the drawings typically follow the same pattern – the foundling in question holding hands with Din.

None of them made him feel like _this_ before.

Then again, none of them ever included a heart either.

It’s how Peli finds him, nearly an hour later: sitting in his chair, body curled over the drawing as if to protect it from some unseen force, with his eyes pinned to the page, tracing each messy line with a reverent gaze.

* * *

The next day, Din walks in with his new washers and a wrench which will hopefully tighten the pipes up, giving the orphanage heat whenever they require it and for longer than ten minutes at a time.

He moves towards the stairs but pauses when his eyes fall upon Esmelle in the hallway. She’s shaking her head at the child – _his_ child – with sheer disappointment wreathing her features. Din falters for a second, which is long enough for the child to catch sight of him and cry for him with arms held aloft. Din’s heart pangs painfully and he finds himself swaying towards the kid without a second thought.

“Hey pal,” he greets with a nod, “I found that picture you made for me, thank you. You got a good eye for colour.” The child coos, hands still grasping the air insistently; Din automatically goes to pick him up but Esmelle stops him with a hand to his chest.

“Not so fast,” she tells him before nodding to the kid, “this one is in _trouble_.”

“Trouble?” Din echoes, glancing up at her with mild shock; then he stares down at the kid who averts Din’s eyes instantly, hands fidgeting with his little brown onesie. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

The child whines up at him petulantly, looking somewhat affronted by Din’s comment.

“Yes, well,” Esmelle elaborates, waving her hand in the air, “this incident is a tad more serious, considering he _bit_ a child.” Her words are tart but she’s careful not to let any anger thread through her tone; Din finds that he approves of her methods but then he’s caught wondering why he cares at all.

“You bit a child?” Din asks, glancing down at the kid. “You couldn’t wait until dinner?”

The child ducks his head to hide his grin but Din still catches it. Esmelle, however, does not appreciate Din’s jest and folds her arms as she shakes her head with disappointment. In a way, she reminds him of The Armorer, for she too radiates an aura of maternal displeasure whenever clan members fight – even more so when the clan members are no longer children.

“He stole Anthony’s _Nevarro Nummies_ ,” Esmelle says with a straight face, “and when Anthony tried to get them back, he got bit.”

“You stole his—” Din cuts himself off because there is no dignified way of saying _Nevarro Nummies_ , truly. “Why did you bite him?” he asks, ducking down to his haunches before the kid, careful to keep his tone light and nonthreatening. The clan’s foundlings fight all the time, which has helped Din learn how to mediate conflict between troublemakers.

Still, there’s something about this particular troublemaker which has him showing a degree of leniency.

“He doesn’t like letting go of ‘his’ things,” Esmelle says, enforcing her words with her fingers, “we’ve been working on it but it’s… a challenge.”

Din nods up at her, turning to face the child with a sigh.

The child does look mildly repentant, but Din isn’t certain that the child feels bad for committing the crime or if he feels bad for getting _caught_.

“That’s not what we do in a conflict, kid,” he says gently, leaning down to capture the child’s gaze through his helmet, “we negotiate a deal, we try and stay civil, we don’t bite. We don’t need to get violent.” Privately, Din hopes no one else senses the hypocrisy in his words. “Remember when you took my keys?” The child emits a tiny sound of acknowledgement. “Yes, those keys were important to me just like Anthony’s snacks were important to him. Remember when I gave you my Oreos?” The child trills and pats his cheeks, clearly remembering how much he enjoyed his treat. “How would you feel if someone took them away?” The child’s ears droop and he whines again. Din nods. “That’s how Anthony must be feeling too – so, now you know why we don’t take away other people’s things. It makes them sad. But remember how you gave me my keys back? That made it better.” The child coos and stares at him with bright eyes. “Anything can be fixed kid. Anything,” Din pauses, “except maybe boilers.”

The child coos and pats his cheeks again. Din nods, his eyes flickering up to Esmelle. He’s mildly surprised to see her gazing at him, her look cool but indecipherable as she stares him down.

Din thinks he may have crossed a line seeing as his only job is to fix the boiler, but then she smiles at him, soft and curious. She gestures to the child with a hand and says, “I have a theory that he may have seen you speaking to Anthony during one of your visits here. I think he may have gotten, oh, what’s the word?” she murmurs, her gaze flittering away for a moment before it lights up. “Panicked? Frightened? I don’t know, but something tells me that he gets very upset when your attention strays to someone else.”

Din blinks, unsure why the child would get so worked up over something so trivial.

He may have spoken to the other children but it’s not like he allows them to assist him like he does this particular child. He can’t just ignore the children; it wouldn’t be fair or kind but… it’s not like they’re _this_ child.

The child whines and tucks his chin into his chest, avoiding the eyes of both adults in the room.

“Yeah,” Din murmurs, reaching over to gently pat the child on the back, “we have to work on that buddy, that’s not healthy.” The child coos and glances up, leaning into Din’s touch with bright, glimmering eyes.

“You’d…” Esmelle utters, capturing Din’s attention once more, “you’d work on that with him?”

“I…” Din trails off as he realises what he’s offered. “Oh. Ah, I meant— the _royal_ we, not just— I didn’t mean— I’m sorry, I wouldn’t—”

“Interesting,” Esmelle muses with an impish smile, “Shirene told me you weren’t interested in adopting.”

“I’m not,” Din informs her, blanching when the child releases a sharp cry of dismay. Guilt floods his gut, mingling with the regret as he shoots Esmelle an apologetic look. “Sorry, I should get back to the boiler. I’ve taken up enough of your time and I shouldn’t have— I guess I got,” Din curses himself for floundering as he finishes weakly, “distracted.”

“Distracted, huh?” Esmelle echoes, canting her head. “Is that why our boiler hasn’t been fixed yet?”

“I’m sorry. I did say I could get someone else in to do the repairs,” he reminds her because Kuiil had all but insisted that he have a look at the appliance instead of Din and he’s certain that if he asked The Armorer, she would be more than agreeable if it meant helping foundlings.

“Yes, but,” Esmelle says, nodding towards the child who has, at some point, began mouthing at Din’s wrist, “who am I to deprive you of this interaction?”

Din chuckles shortly. “I don’t think I’d be the one being deprived.”

Esmelle hums and nods, “I think you’re quite right.”

“Oh?”

“You _don’t_ think.”

* * *

Kuiil finally tracks down the instructions for the make and model of the orphanage’s boiler.

He once again offers to fix Din’s problem for him, but pride prevents him from accepting help.

He started this; he’s going to finish it.

Plus, he doesn’t really want Kuiil to see just how awful Din’s handiwork really is.

* * *

Din walks into the orphanage feeling more confident about his task.

“Not in trouble today?” he asks the child, who greets him by the stairs by lifting his arms.

Dutifully, Din picks him up and tucks him into the crook of an arm, gazing down at the child as he immediately starts patting Din’s overalls for his keys. Shaking his head, Din sets down his toolbox and feels grateful that he’s hidden his keys inside it for once.

“You won’t find them,” he says, huffing out a laugh when the child grumbles, “but I do have something else for you.”

The child perks up and Din’s breath catches in his throat as he takes in the excitement radiating off the kid’s body in waves. He hates to admit it, but Esmelle may be onto something – he’s certainly never felt so _attached_ to someone before and he doesn’t want to contemplate how he will feel when he finally has to say goodbye.

“Here,” Din says, reaching into his pocket to remove a small silver ball; he had found it inside the trunk of a wrecked Mustang and almost threw it away, but… _something_ about it made him reconsider. He supposes it’s the shininess of the object, the fact that it’s clearly been broken off the car’s stick-shift and the fact that this would definitely be something that the child would steal. Din held it, tucked it away and swore to give it to him – to let the child have something to keep. “It’s for you,” Din adds needlessly, presenting the tiny gift with trepidation beating in his heart. “You can have it.”

The child blinks up at him and slowly, cautiously, takes the ball from Din.

He blinks at it, turning the ball over in his hands as he coos at it softly. The child glances up at Din and releases a stream of delighted babble, chattering and smiling as he holds the ball tightly to his chest.

“I’m glad you like it,” Din says softly, his gut flooding with a warmth he’s never experienced before. “Now, _don’t_ eat this one, okay?”

The child emits a petulant sound as if to say, _no shit_.

* * *

“It seems that these are not the only foundlings you care for,” The Armorer tells Din during his visit to his clan’s orphanage. The foundlings have all clustered around him, expressing how much they’ve missed him and begging him to watch them show off their new skills. “You have been busy improving life at another orphanage.”

Din sits on a bench with the closest thing he has to a mother and watches as the children laugh and play.

“I wouldn’t say I care for these new foundlings any more than ours,” Din tells her, though the words do not sit right on his tongue, “I’m simply helping them with a problem.”

“Who says it needs to be a competition?” The Armorer asks rhetorically, her gaze piercing from beneath her helmet, “I sense something different in you – perhaps you are ready to take on a foundling of your own?”

“I… I don’t think that’s a path which is open for me,” Din replies slowly, his skin prickling.

The Armorer is silent for a moment, before she continues, “who says you’re the one to walk it? Perhaps you’re not the one on the journey. Perhaps you are a mere destination.” She cants her head and Din’s skin prickles as he feels her radiating curiosity. “Would that make you reconsider?”

Din opens his mouth to argue but his words die in his throat.

He can’t lie at the best of times, but he _especially_ cannot lie to The Armorer.

“A foundling is a lot of responsibility,” he says, wincing as he considers how weak his words sound.

“That was not a _no_ ,” The Armorer says delicately.

* * *

Through sheer determination, Din fixes the boiler.

He finally feels a fierce satisfaction until Esmelle pauses in signing his pay-check to ask him if he’ll have a look at the communal bathroom – the children have been recently complaining that their showers are too cold and after checking, it seems that there is a leak in the plumbing cutting their hot water off.

Din sighs, his mind forcing him to visualise a certain tiny child shivering from the cold and acquiesces to Esmelle’s request.

Though, he politely reminds her that he is a _mechanic_ , not a _plumber_.

She simply smiles and tells him that the bathroom is upstairs and to the left.

* * *

Din’s little helper makes his presence known by splashing in the puddle left by the leak.

“You’re going to get a cold if you keep that up,” Din sighs, carefully tugging all of his tools out of the child’s reach; then he furrows his brow when he notices the bulging shape to the kid’s cheeks. “What is in your mouth?”

The kid blinks innocently at him.

Din isn’t fooled for a second.

“What,” Din says, patient and a tad fearful as he inches towards the child, “is in your mouth?”

He holds out his hand under the child’s mouth and gives him a stern look which he hopes reaches through his visor; the child whines, curls into himself for a moment, before realising that this is a fruitless endeavour and spits out his secret into the palm of Din’s hand.

It’s a fish.

The child has tried to eat a live fish.

“Where did you get this from?” Din asks, purely horrified as it flops pathetically in his hand.

His answer comes in the form of a young girl who races past the bathroom with her voice raw with distress, shortly followed by Esmelle’s calming croons as she gives chase, hot on the girl’s heels.

“Esme! Esme! I can’t find Flossy anywhere!”

“Don’t panic. She’s a _fish_ , she can’t have gotten far, darling.”

Din stares down at the fish.

He stares up at the child.

The fish flops again.

“Is this Flossy?” he asks quietly.

The child blinks and grins before he continues to splash around in the puddle.

Din stares back down at the fish and wonders what he must have done, what choices he chose, what decisions he made, in his whole fucking life to have led him here. Kneeling in a cold puddle in the bathroom of an orphanage, holding a dying fish as her would-be murderer giggles and plays around in the aforementioned cold puddle.

Truly, Din doesn’t think he ever caused his clan _this_ much havoc, though the chill down his spine and his memories of The Armorer’s hauntingly sharp admonishments would say otherwise.

* * *

Din buys the girl a new fish out of second-hand guilt.

He also buys the child a pack of Goldfish Crackers and tries to explain the difference between pets and food.

He doesn’t think the lesson sticks at all.

* * *

Din also gets a key to the orphanage that day – an actual key.

At this rate, he’ll probably end up with his own bedroom and a place at the table.

The thought isn’t exactly _unwelcome_ , however.

* * *

“So,” Cara begins in a slow drawl, settling down beside him on his sofa, “I hear you’re forcing poor, orphaned children to suffer through your DIY skills.” Din cants his head at her pointedly and Cara smiles like she knows he’s glaring at her. “Tell me, is there a difference between your foundlings and these ones.” She’s always been curious about Mandalorians, but in a restrained, polite manner which Cobb hasn’t learned to do yet.

Still, Din considers her question carefully.

“My foundling eats pets,” Din tells her and takes great joy in watching as she chokes on her own breath. Then she stares up at him with watery eyes, her brows raised high as she regards him steadily.

“ _Your_ foundling eats _what_?” she asks incredulously.

Din blinks, recalls his words then ducks his head in mortification.

“I mean, my foundlings _don’t_ eat pets,” he corrects himself hastily.

But it’s too late—

“Interesting,” Cara notes, a faint gleam of something unreadable in her dark eyes.

—the damage is done, and Din knows his friends well enough to acknowledge the fact that his mistake will haunt him for the rest of his days.

* * *

Din wanders into the orphanage using his key and wonders when this became part of his life.

He can’t even remember the last time he worked on a car or a bike.

He greets Esmelle in the kitchen, politely turns down her offer of coffee and swiftly makes his way to the communal bathroom. He nods and smiles as he passes the other children on the stairs, mildly amused as they excitedly whisper and point at his helmet, sharing rumours and theories about who he really is.

Shirene’s kindly informed him that the latest popular rumour is that he lost his head in a tragic accident and had to get it fixed with a robotic replacement.

Honestly, children have the _strangest_ imaginations.

As Din ventures through the second floor of the orphanage, he finds himself pausing in front of a bedroom. It has two sets of beds inside it, with posters littering the walls and toys scattered across the floor. On one of the beds is his little friend and on the other is Shirene wearing a stern expression. Din shakes his head fondly and rests against the doorframe.

“In trouble again?” he calls out softly.

“Patu!” the child exclaims, head snapping around to coo at the sight of Din.

“Yes,” Shirene says, sitting up and folding her arms. “He ran away from us during our last excursion to the local park. And it’s made us very, _very_ sad.” Din winces on the child’s behalf because that’s certainly a guilt trip and then some; still, it must have required some skill to slip away from his caretakers and the other adults at the park… kid must be something else. Though, Shirene certainly isn’t in the mood to consider such a thing.

In response to her admonishment, the child whines and ducks his head.

Din sighs and slowly walks into the room, ducking onto his haunches beside the kid. “Why did you do that?” he asks, leaning down to try and catch the kid’s eye. “Don’t you know you could’ve gotten hurt? There are lots of bad people in the world, you shouldn’t do that again.”

“I think he was trying to find you,” Shirene pipes up, “considering we discovered him not far from Peli’s Auto-Shop.”

“Why would he run to…” Din’s words trail off as he glances down at himself, eyes catching the patch on his chest; the child’s memory is incredibly impressive, especially his comprehension, his memory and his ability to track down new environments. If the child hadn’t been in trouble, Din would’ve rewarded such skill. “Oh. The overalls. He must’ve remembered the patch.”

“I told you he was clever,” Shirene says mildly before she stands up with a sharp click of her tongue, “though, I don’t think it was just the patch he remembered.”

“What do you mean?” Din asks, turning to look up at her, genuinely curious about the child’s perceptive intelligence.

“You honestly believe the kid ran away for the _auto-shop_?” Shirene questions, arching a brow at him pointedly. “What, you think his pram broke down and he needed a repair?”

“I don’t—”

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, then I am truly done with you,” Shirene interjects tiredly and Din suddenly understands why Peli is so fond of this couple.

* * *

He fixes the shower, and the kids throw him a party.

Din finds himself having fun in a manner which differs from spending time with the clan’s foundlings. He graciously saves some homemade cake for his friends and sincerely thanks every child for their hand-drawn gifts of gratitude as they take the time to explain each one in extensive detail. Shirene and Esmelle watch from the side-lines and do not offer any help when the children begin to climb all over him. It’s a lovely affair until one of the kids gets too rambunctious and spills soda all over the television.

It’s no surprise that the child to commit the crime is _his_ kid.

Din simply sighs and tells Shirene that he’ll go fetch his toolbox.

* * *

The television is a lost cause and for once, it isn’t because of Din.

He still uses the whole sorry situation as a lesson in colours for his little helper, though he thinks the kid is getting things wrong on purpose. Din asks for a red wire and his kid will throw a blue one at him; he tells the kid to point out the green wire and his kid will pick up the plug.

Din asks the kid to pass him a screwdriver and his child gives him the remote control instead.

It’s a whole _experience_ and it’s more of a lesson in patience for Din than anything else.

Although, when his kid gets electrocuted for the _second_ time in his presence, Din swiftly decides to end his career in teaching before it even begins.

* * *

The television is replaced but then the radio breaks.

Din fixes it but lingers to introduce his kid to different types of music.

His heart pounds a fierce beat when his child starts to dance and giggle, and he knows that he will miss this kid more than he will ever comprehend.

* * *

“What are you fixing this time?” Peli asks when Din tells her that he can only work for half the day again as he has done, since the moment he stepped foot in the orphanage.

“A fridge,” Din says, looking for a suitable bulb in Peli’s messy drawers; she usually has the oddest things hanging around, so it wouldn’t surprise him to find a fridge bulb somewhere in all this chaos, “I think someone cut the wire and then smashed the bulb inside.”

Peli is silent for a moment.

“How very coincidental,” she says, hands on her hips, “sounds like someone _really_ wants you around the orphanage.”

“I don’t think it’s Esmelle or Shirene,” Din tells her distractedly, flinging aside an empty perfume bottle, two mini breathalysers and a toothbrush, “they seem very happy together.”

Peli blinks at him before she sighs and shakes her head despairingly.

“You know, I warned you that your helmet is on too tight and you promised that it wasn’t and that your head was just fine but look at you now,” she remarks as she turns to disappear into her office, “it’s shrunk your brain and now you’re left with just the one tiny brain-cell to keep you company.”

Din watches as she closes the door behind her and idly wonders if perhaps, he’s given her _too_ much leeway when it comes to insulting him.

No. He’s _definitely_ given her too much leeway.

* * *

Despite Peli’s unwarranted insult, Din has to admit that she’s onto something.

Din starts to suspect shenanigans too – shenanigans in the shape of little children with large eyes and toothy smiles. He doesn’t bring up his suspicions though, doesn’t tell Esmelle or Shirene that foul play is at hand.

He _should_.

But he doesn’t.

* * *

Din sighs as he stares at the smoke billowing out of the oven.

He looks down at his child clinging to his pants.

“This is because they told you off for running away, isn’t it?” he asks blandly.

His child simply smiles back.

* * *

He’s asked to fix an overflowing toilet which has been blocked up with copious amounts of toilet paper.

Din stares at the mess.

His child joins him in staring at the mess.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea what happened here?” Din asks him. Instead of answering, his child just throws in another wad of toilet paper. Which, in retrospect, Din should have anticipated really.

Absently, he wonders if maybe, _just maybe_ , he ought to begin charging extra for his services.

Absently, he wonders if maybe, _just maybe_ , he ought to begin paying Esmelle and Shirene instead.

* * *

After the toilet, it’s the dryer, then the microwave, then the power supply itself.

Each time, Din fixes the issue and has to gently remind his kid that there are better ways of getting attention. His child merely plays with his silver ball in response and Din knows that he’s being subtly called out on his own hypocrisy.

“One day, someone is going to get hurt,” Din tells his kid after he’s finished replacing every bulb in the building, “these might be harmless jokes for you but at some point, you’re going to go too far.”

His child grumbles, eyes cast down as Din chides him.

“Don’t pout,” he says, “just promise me this is the last time, okay? I don’t want you getting into any serious trouble.”

His child sighs heavily.

“I know, it’s not fair,” Din continues, “but what isn’t fair is making everyone else sad because they can’t dry their clothes, or store their food, or see in the dark. This isn’t being respectful of the home you live in. It isn’t being respectful of the people you live with. Okay?”

His child nods with a series of melancholic whines as he tucks his silver ball into his onesie.

“I’m not mad,” Din is quick to say, “I just want you to be safe, okay?”

His child nods again and Din holds out his arms in a silent request; it takes a moment but eventually, he slowly ambles into Din’s embrace, tiny hands clutching at his overalls as Din gathers his kid into a careful hug. Absently, he knows that this is for the best, as his child can’t keep breaking the orphanage’s resources but Din’s also aware that he will have no more reasons to visit when everything is fixed and done.

Once he’s working full-time at Peli’s again, he’ll barely have the capacity to drop by and the thought of never seeing his child again… _hurts_ Din. It hurts him in a manner which he hasn’t experienced in years. Din’s enjoyed spending time with his kid, learning his tics, his mannerisms, his likes and dislikes – even when he’s misbehaved, Din couldn’t help feeling sheer fondness towards his little child. His hand cups the back of his child’s head, fingers brushing against soft ears and wisps of hair and knows that he will _miss_ this.

Din holds his child closer and tries to savour every little second he has left with him.

* * *

His fears were not unfounded.

The day he finishes fixing everything broken in the orphanage really isn’t the victory Din had initially anticipated. Whilst he’s mildly proud of his newfound skills, he can’t help but feel slightly hollow as he enters Esmelle’s office.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else?” he asks, watching as Esmelle finally signs his pay-check.

“I thought you weren’t a plumber, electrician, handyman or a glorified babysitter,” she retorts, listing off every name Din has given himself in the past few weeks, “why so eager to stay?”

“I’m not,” Din denies tartly, “I’m just making sure I don’t waste a journey back to the auto-shop only to have Peli tell me that your dryer’s blown up. Again.”

“Well, don’t tempt fate,” Esmelle warns him, handing him the check, “besides, something tells me our string of bad luck has come to an end for a reason.”

“You’ve not locked him in his room, have you?” Din asks warily.

“Locked up who?” Esmelle asks delicately.

Din blinks. “No one,” he lies awkwardly, tucking his check into his overalls’ pocket. He pauses when he feels the orphanage’s key and gently removes it, turning it over in his hand as it gleams dully in the light. “I should probably return this?” he says, the words coming out more questioning than they ought.

“Do you _want_ to return it?” Esmelle asks quietly, “you are always welcome to visit – you know that.”

“I… I can’t,” Din says, deliberately placing the key on her desk, “it would be nice but realistically, I just wouldn’t have the time. Maybe someday, but…” he trails off and shrugs silently, “I should go and say goodbye to Shirene.”

“Right,” Esmelle says, using an elegant finger to drag the key back to her, her icy-blue eyes trained on Din’s hidden face, “it’s _Shirene_ who needs the emotional farewell.”

Din narrows his eyes at her pointed tone; he knows what she’s getting at and he knows he needs to hunt down his child and give him the goodbye he deserves. After all, it’s what the kid deserves after keeping Din company for the better part of the month.

“Thank you,” he says to Esmelle, “for being so patient with me.”

Esmelle smiles permissively at him. “You’re welcome, Din. We really couldn’t have asked for a better not-mechanic-slash-plumber-slash-electrician to help us with our problems.”

“I’m certain I caused some of those problems,” Din remarks dryly.

“Indeed,” Esmelle says, dropping her voice lowly, “in ways you can only imagine.”

“I’m sorry?” Din tilts his head curiously.

“Nothing,” Esmelle says. She gazes at him for a prolonged beat before waving her hand at him airily, gesturing to her door. “Go on, I’ll see you around Mr Djarin.”

Din nods to her politely. “I’ll see you around.”

He slips out of the office and sighs, feeling heavier than he had before entering it. Today’s the last day in this place and he’s half-tempted to just linger and savour the time he has left. However, Peli has made it very clear that she needs him back for a big job that afternoon, so Din is pretty strapped for time. She’s been looking forward to having her assistant back – guess she ought to have thought about that before hiring him out.

No, that isn’t fair.

Din isn’t even annoyed about the whole situation anymore – hasn’t been for the longest time. Regardless, he needs to say goodbye; it would be rude to just leave, no matter how big a job is waiting for him at the auto-shop.

His mind wanders as he pads towards the foyer, trying to collect his thoughts together to form some semblance of a suitable farewell for his kid. He doesn’t think he’ll even be able to summarise how much he’s appreciated the company, how much he’s enjoyed the kid’s presence in his life and just how badly – truly, honestly, awfully – he’ll miss the kid.

Before he gets the chance to formulate a vague outline however, Din finds himself almost colliding into the child he’s been so focused on.

The kid has a large, sulky pout on his lips as he stares up at Din; in his hands is a tiny Nerf gun and he’s pointing it at Din with intent.

“Hey, kid. Thanks for the ceasefire on wrecking the place,” Din says with a nod; his gaze then falls to the toy and he cocks his head curiously, “and what do you plan on doing with that?”

The child whines and brandishes it purposely.

“Holding me hostage?” Din asks, “going to shoot me if I leave?”

His kid whines, his tiny finger resting against the trigger; Din smiles at the bravado being demonstrated and knows that if this foundling were of his clan, then he’d be in so much trouble. Of course, the child would also be praised for being bold but— _no_ , what is Din doing?

“Oh yeah?” Din continues to ask, “with what aim, pal?”

And the child takes his challenge.

The child lifts the gun.

The child pulls the trigger.

And Din is momentarily shocked when a Nerf pellet hits him squarely on the visor.

He almost wants to applaud the child, but the lack of trilling giggles sobers Din up immediately; his kid must be pretty low if he’s not finding this moment laughable. Slowly, Din peels the pellet off his helmet and tosses it aside, humming lowly when the child throws his gun away too.

“Yeah, it is a pretty sad day, huh?” Din murmurs, eyebrows furrowing together when his kid sits down on the ground and tugs his silver ball free from his onesie. Din swallows hard as he watches the child stroke over the metal with careful fingers. His heart stops for a moment and his throat closes up as he realises just how much of a void will be left in his life when he leaves this place behind.

He ducks down to his haunches and sighs heavily – this tiny child has become so integral to his life, filling a gap that Din hadn’t even thought _existed_. The child is so unlike any foundling Din has ever encountered, even the ones cared for by his clan. His kid is special and clever and brave and…

And he’s going to miss him.

“I’m going to miss you,” Din says out loud because the child deserves to hear it. He steadily watches as his kid clutches at the little silver ball and then it hits Din – _his_ kid. This is _his_ _kid_. For weeks he’s been casually referring to the child as _his_ and he’s never questioned it, not once, not until now. He’s never been a selfish individual, has been brought up to understand that what is his also is of the clan’s. Bar his bike and helmet, Din’s never really had anything he could call _his_.

He’s never wanted anything to _keep_.

He’s never wanted anything to _have_.

And yet… here he is.

Like a slow-motion picture, every interaction he’s had with the child filters through his mind accompanied by every pointed conversation he’s had with an adult recently. Everyone has seemingly seen the obvious bar Din. He had thought himself unsuited for parenthood – not ready, too busy, lacking a paternal nature – but in this moment, he’s never been more sure of anything in his whole life.

He’s actually acknowledging the most terrifying fact which has been following him around since day one. He’s actually contemplating the terrifying concept of becoming something he hadn’t thought himself suited for.

Or _deserving_ of.

Yet everyone clearly thinks otherwise – including his kid.

“Oh,” Din utters, eyes widening behind his visor, “I’m… I’m _really_ going to miss you.”

The child whines again – _his_ child.

“But I guess,” Din is quick to continue, his mind quickly mapping out a plan – his house has a spare-room already, would be suited for a bedroom, the kid could even take the master bedroom, it’s not like Din needs the space, Peli pays him enough, it’s not like he _can’t_ afford to take in a child, he’ll have to get a sidecar for the bike, goggles, a helmet; is a sidecar even safe, no matter, he will _make_ it safe, he can do this, he can absolutely, theoretically _do_ this. Fragile hope filters through Din’s veins as he wets his lips. “I guess it would be pretty hard to miss someone if they never go away.”

The child tilts his head and blinks.

Then he lights up – bright and hopeful. Din softly chuckles when the kid lifts his arms and emits a series of urgent whines as he totters closer. Ducking down, Din dutifully picks the child up; he’s careful to avoid knocking the silver ball from the kid’s grip and instead, tucks him into the crook of his elbow.

The child slots into Din’s arms and he’s never realised just how well they fit together; like two broken jigsaws finding each other and seamlessly coming together. And as the child nuzzles close, Din realises that the child has slotted himself – wordless and without fanfare – into Din’s life since the moment they met.

“You know, my neighbour suggested I get myself a pet—” the child instantly grumbles “—yeah, I don’t think you’re exactly what he had in mind either.” The child – his child – snorts and shuffles closer into Din’s body. “But maybe this would be better, yeah? You and me? I mean, we almost destroyed this orphanage from the inside out, so this is probably a terrible idea but… I can’t imagine going back to a life without you in it. You’re special – _horrifying_ at times – but mostly special.”

The child laughs and smiles toothily, latching onto Din’s finger like it holds all the secrets to life itself. Din hums and holds him back, enveloping the child’s hand with his easily. He supposes moments like these are supposed to provide the child with a sense of security and love, but… Din’s rocks on the spot as a wave of sheer adoration sweeps through him when the child coos up at him.

“You really think this is a good idea?” Din asks.

His kid gives him the driest look imaginable and honestly, Din knows he deserves it.

“Yeah, I deserve that,” he says quietly, leaning down to gently rest his helmet against the child’s forehead. Immediately, the child purrs and hugs him back, his silver ball sharply clattering against the visor. Din hopes the child feels just as safe and as wanted as he does at this moment, for it’s all he wants for the child and it’s all he will aim for in life from now on.

“I hope we look as sweet as them when we find our fated foundling.”

“Manage your expectations – this is positively saccharine.”

Din jolts as he finds himself with an audience.

Two women stand at the entrance to the orphanage – one red-haired, the other brunette. They’ve clearly let themselves in and Din wonders how many people out there have a key to this building. It makes his nerves prickle unpleasantly and he has to repress the urge to turn on his heel and lecture Esmelle on the importance of security. Especially when it comes to children.

“I never thought I’d see another Mandalorian around these parts,” the red-haired woman says, canting her head as she regards Din steadily. Din takes note of how she says _another_ Mandalorian and knows that the women in front of him are of his creed but clearly hail from a different branch. Their helmets are tucked under their arms and their jackets have _Nite Owls_ proudly printed on the breast. Din, however, keeps his thoughts to himself as he takes in their open appearances, fully aware of the child crooning in his arms. “The name is Bo-Katan, this is my girlfriend, Koska.” Bo-Katan pauses and arches a brow. “You _are_ a Mandalorian, right? I have a knack for sensing these things so do let me know if I’m wrong.”

“Din Djarin,” he introduces himself politely, “and yes, I am Mandalorian.”

The dark-haired woman – Koska – nods politely, “I heard rumours that a clan operated in this town,” she says lightly, without a hint of threat so Din’s hackles relax slightly. “Nice to see them confirmed.” Koska’s eyes soften as they fall upon Din’s grizzling child, her lips twitching upwards slightly.

“It is,” Bo-Katan agrees with her before she gestures towards Din’s helmet, “but you don’t need to stand on ceremony for us, we’re all the same here.”

“I’d rather not,” Din tells her, “thank you.”

“You… you keep the helmet on?” Bo-Katan arches a brow, her thinly-veiled surprise flittering shortly across her face. Koska merely rolls her eyes and sighs heavily; Din doesn’t appreciate either reaction and narrows his gaze at them, watching them carefully. He knows how modern clans have adapted Mandalorian tenets to suit their needs but that doesn’t mean they get to look down upon him for his choices.

“Evidently,” he remarks, tightening his hold on the kid.

Bo-Katan nods, opening her mouth to say more but clearly thinking better of it when her girlfriend, Koska, nudges her pointedly. They share a look, seemingly communicating with their eyes alone and it makes Din feel more on edge than before. No matter their silence, Din already _feels_ judged and had clearly left them wanting.

“It’s an… _interesting_ life choice, Child of the Watch,” Koska says, her eyes flitting down to the child in his arms, “almost as interesting as _him_.”

“That’s a good word for him,” Din says, his mind stuck on her words _Child of the Watch_. He’d have to ask The Armorer about that at some point, for he’s never heard that expression before and certainly not about him. Din’s been insulted several times in his life, even in different languages, but this phrase one doesn’t seem to be an insult. Still, there’s something in Koska’s tone which tells him otherwise. “You here to adopt?”

“We’re considering it,” Koska says, continuing to stare at Din’s child.

Uncomfortable with her scrutiny, he shifts minutely, shielding the child with his own body.

“But not him,” Bo-Katan continues, smiling softly at the child, “it seems he has already chosen.”

“Good luck finding a helmet to fit these ears,” Koska adds, her words a partial tease as she softly traces the child’s ears.

“We should stay in touch – it would be a shame for us to lose contact, especially when there are so few of us left in the world. I’ll even let you keep the helmet on,” Bo-Katan teases him, her tone lightly sharp.

“How magnanimous of you,” Din drawls.

“It is, isn’t it?” she says, a wry smile on her lips as she sweeps past him to venture up the stairs. Koska waggles her fingers at Din’s giggling child before leaving to follow her girlfriend. “I’ll see you around, Din Djarin,” Bo-Katan calls back to him, causing his skin to prickle slightly.

The child must sense his discomfort as he pats at Din’s helmet with a worried coo; Din is quick to rock the child soothingly, shaking his head as if to shrug away the child’s concerns. It rocks him to the core that he’s found someone who can just see through his physical and metaphorical armour, who can sense the changes in his mood so deftly, who is willing to comfort him as much as Din is willing to comfort in return.

They spend a prolonged, comfortable beat just enjoying the presence of the other when the clattering sound of smart heels announces the appearance of someone new. Din tenses up instinctively, but the urgent, soothing croons of his child has his hackles steadily settling. He wonders when this newfound softness of his has developed, though he’s also certain it will be balanced out by the near-ferocious urge to _protect_ which has blossomed in his gut.

His child may have melted his defences, but Din knows that no one would be foolish enough to try and take advantage of that. Not with him, at least.

“Oh! You’re still here and—” Esmelle’s footsteps come to an abrupt stop before him, cutting herself off as she sees the child cradled in his arms; Din nods at her, finally acknowledging the unspoken accusation which follows him every time he visits the orphanage. “Ah. I see.”

“I think I better make sure that your bad luck has ended on a permanent basis,” he says, smiling down at the child when he pats at Din’s helmet with cheery chatter, clearly pleased that Din’s finally stopped lying to himself and has realised what everyone else has seemingly known for three and a half weeks.

“So, you’ve finally accepted the inevitable then?” Esmelle asks cautiously, approaching the pair with an indiscernible expression.

“Yes,” Din replies, his voice strained as he takes in the sheer delight radiating from the little life in his arms, “I have.”

“Okay,” Esmelle says, regarding Din with a small smile before she arches her brow sternly at him, “I’ll warn you now; this _won’t_ be an easy process and today is only the beginning. It’ll take weeks of admin work, weeks of auditing you and your home, making sure you’re aware of what you’re doing, if you earn enough, if your home and neighbourhood are suitable. There are physical, mental and emotional assessments but,” she softens as she shoots the child a gentle look, “I think you’ll be fine. Just, get through the process and he’ll be all yours.”

“More like I’ll be all his,” Din snorts.

The child babbles in agreement.

“Indeed,” Esmelle says before she straightens up, all business, “now, let’s get started.”

* * *

She wasn’t lying.

Adopting his kid _had_ been an awful, arduous journey filled with invasive questions and visits to his home. It had been draining on his emotions and his mind; it got to the point where Peli started sending him home to just sleep off his stress and regroup. The assessment itself had been fine – his home was approved, his neighbourhood, his job… it was just. Din himself, which gave them pause. Proving that a Mandalorian could look after a child, could provide a wholesome and fulfilling future for the kid.

His clan having the reputation for putting foundlings first helped enormously but it still didn’t prevent CPS from requesting that he remove his helmet countless time. He didn’t. They soon understood that he wouldn’t and couldn’t really hold it against him.

It took months, but eventually, he got through it in one piece and his child is now his _son_.

His son, who clings to Din like he’s afraid he’ll disappear.

His son, who cradles his silver ball like it holds the secrets to life itself.

His son, who emits a series of joyful cackles when Din rides home.

Din’s endlessly pleased that his kid has the spine of a thrill-seeker and inwardly plans to take as many rides with the kid as possible. He can’t restrain the smile which grows on his lips at the sheer, unadulterated delight which radiates from his young charge and he knows that he will never tire of hearing the sound of his child’s laughter.

He pulls up outside his house and grins when his kid lurches forward, eyes scanning Din’s home excitedly. It’s a nice area, quiet and safe, with a neighbourhood which isn’t invasive but caring, nonetheless. Din knocks the kickstand into place, climbing off his bike to gather his son into his arms. His child immediately cuddles close, fingers curling into Din’s leather jacket as he takes in the house before him.

“Atha-babbah, atha-babbah,” his son chatters, smiling toothily up at Din as he points towards the front door.

“That’s right. This is where you live now,” Din says, walking down the path, eyes on his son and nothing else. “So, Grogu Djarin,” he continues softly, curling his finger into Grogu’s hand, “welcome home.”


End file.
